Torn and Saved
by Kala Sathinee
Summary: 'Torn and Frayed' destroyed me. I could not accept the ending, so I wrote a new one. AU, Inias/Samandriel, hinted Destiel, mentions of Michael/Lucifer, warnings by chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**__ I couldn't handle the ending of '_Torn and Frayed_', so I've written an alternate. All Enochian will be translated at the end of each chapter and a pronunciation provided. _

**Torn and Saved**

The voice woke Inias so abruptly that he didn't even stop to question why he'd slept in the first place. It wasn't a loud voice; it wasn't a scream. It wasn't even in the room. It came into his mind on the same whispery thread as all communications from his kind.

It wasn't an order, as would have been expected. It wasn't a call back to the ranks or a demand for his location. It didn't even sound like the owner of the voice had intended for him to hear his words. Instead it was as if he'd cried the words to himself and unknowingly sent them out.

He knew the voice. It was his mate; his beautiful mate who should have been safely up in Heaven tending Eden with Joshua. It was Samandriel.

But the cry was no lonely pining sigh. It wasn't the cry of one who believed his mate lost and was grieving. There was pain in his voice; tangible, physical pain. His voice rasped as if he'd been screaming. He sobbed out Inias' name as if he were only trying to comfort himself. To pretend the other angel was with him.

Inias sat bolt upright, scattering the blankets that had been arranged like a nest beneath him. The rusty bedframe creaked obnoxiously as he propelled himself onto his feet. The rush of emotion that rode in on the wavering connection left him gasping. His body crackled with the angelic equivalent of adrenaline.

Rapidly snagging the mental thread that joined him with his mate, he raced along it, his senses branching like feelers. Atmospheric density, radiation levels, temperature, pressure, gravity variations, sounds, smells, magnetic field lines, radio waves... anything that could hint at Samandriel's location. His mental map narrowed with each new stimulus; each hint, each second brought him closer, like a computer triangulating a phone call.

Northern hemisphere, North America, United States, Nebraska, Fillmore County, Geneva...

Without warning, the link was gone. Gone in a spike of pain that had Inias doubled over, clutching his head. The connection was silent. Unnaturally silent. For a moment Inias' heart twisted with grief. But the connection wasn't gone; just blocked.

His eyes darted around the dark, dusty shack he'd been hiding in. He didn't have much; just his blade. He knew he didn't have the strength to go after Samandriel's captors alone. He would need help.

He thought of Castiel; of the humans—the Winchesters. They would help. And perhaps that demon woman. He glanced at the thin scar on his palm.

Had there been anyone left of his garrison he would have called them up, but he remembered more clearly than he wished to how the Leviathans had slaughtered them. If there were any survivors they were in hiding like he was.

With barely a thought, the blade vanished from the table and Inias felt it rejoin the rest of his body, once more becoming his sting. He straightened his vessel's garments and extended his senses once more; feeling for the presence of Castiel.

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* * *

"All right. What am I looking for?"

"Well, when you torture an angel, it screams and that kind of pain, it creates a ripple effect of strange incidents." Castiel glanced around the cabin, noting the significant lack of anything that wasn't Dean's. He narrowed his eyes. "Where's Sam?"

"Sam's gone." Dean's voice carried a note of disappointment which Castiel didn't fail to notice. "It's all right. We'll, uh, find Alfie ourselves."

There was a soft flutter on the opposite side of the room and Dean felt an ozone crackle in the air behind him; a feeling that usually meant Cas was ready for a fight. He didn't know what he expected to see when he lowered his laptop screen, but a slim, shaggy-haired and unshaven dude in a suit was not it. _Crap, what was this one's name...?_

"Inias," Castiel greeted, not altogether standing down.

The other angel stared at Castiel for a long moment, his eyes flicking between confusion, relief, and awe.

"Castiel. Brother... You're yourself again."

Dean looked between the two angels as Castiel's head went down. Something indefinable passed over his face. Dean watched, memorized it, and filed it away in his ever-growing collection of 'what the fuck, Cas?' moments. He wouldn't yet admit to being worried about the angel, but 'concerned' was a good word.

It took Castiel an abnormally long time to respond but when he did it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

_So he's still doing that lag thing..._

"Yes. I regained myself in Purgatory." He straightened. "Why are you here?"

Inias' face grew solemn. "I need your help."

Dean was about to tell him to get in line when Castiel nodded. "Yes. Of course."

"Whoa. Hang on, Cas. Aren't we already—"

"This is about Samandriel, Dean."

Inias looked beyond relieved. "You heard him too?"

"We've been attempting to pinpoint his location." Castiel looked to Dean. "The vicinity of Hastings—"

"Geneva," Inias cut in. "I traced him to Geneva, Nebraska."

Dean backspaced along his search bar, narrowing the search to Geneva. He scanned the headlines—the usual traffic accidents, missing kids, murders, and local political scandals. But one caught his practiced eye.

"Cas. Strange incidents, right?" He turned the laptop so the angels could see. "I think we're on to something."

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* * *

Less than fifteen minutes later they were loading the Impala. Things went faster when there was only one person to clean up after.

"So, Cas, you gonna explain to me why Inias is taking this so personally?" He shut the trunk. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great having some backup on this, but what gives? He shows up out of nowhere wanting to help..."

Cas had that expression he always wore when he was having to remind himself that Dean didn't know everything that he did about angels.

"Inias and Samandriel are mates, Dean."

"Mates? Like British friends mates or David Attenborough nature program kind of mates?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion, looking at Dean like he'd just spoken a foreign language. "They're pair-bonded."

"Right," Dean nodded. "Nature program." Cas still looked confused but he elected not to ask. In his silence, Dean continued. "In that case I need to know that he's gonna be okay if we get in there and Weiner Hut hasn't made it."

"I can't promise that, Dean."

Dean massaged the bridge of his nose. "If he loses his head..."

Castiel sighed. "A pair-bond is the most powerful force in an angel's life. From the moment two angels fall in love that bond is set in stone. They cannot fall out of love. They cannot feel that love for anyone else. If an angel loses his mate he will never move on and he will never take another mate." He paused, holding Dean's gaze as he let the information sink in. "If Samandriel dies, Inias will grieve for the rest of his life. And the one responsible for his death will be subject to Inias' vengeance. I can't promise that he will maintain composure."

"Fair enough." Dean leaned on the frame of the open driver's side door, glancing over his shoulder at the cabin. The soft click of the door was all that heralded Inias' exit; freshly shaven, his suit and hair no longer dishevelled. With a dismissive wave of his hand the locks on the cabin door bolted themselves.

He seemed composed on the surface, but Dean knew the look. The tension in his frame, the forcibly blank expression. It was the look of a man trying desperately to hide how afraid he was.

"You ready?"

Inias nodded. "Yes."

Dean studied him a moment longer, watching him circle the car. Castiel was already in the passenger seat; staring ahead and waiting in that way that had used to freak Dean out but now just amused him.

"You ever been in a car before?" he asked, noticing the apprehensive cast to Inias' eyes.

The angel shook his head. "Is it fast?"

"It can be," Dean smirked. "Get in."

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* * *

Inias later made a mental note to ask Dean why the car had been necessary. It was slower than he would have liked and while Castiel was clearly resigned to the excruciatingly slow pace of the machine, Inias couldn't help but tick every second over in his mind and wonder whether the next would be Samandriel's last. His mate had felt so weak in that brief contact they'd shared and the lingering fear and guilt gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He'd asked several times if the car could be coaxed to go faster and had been informed that Dean was 'already doing twice the limit'. Inias didn't know what that meant but he gathered it was something they could be in trouble for.

When they finally reached Geneva, Inias let his senses once more extend outward through several sub-dimensions, and he felt Castiel do the same. Unfortunately, they both knew that whatever warding Crowley had put up would severely hamper their ability to sense both demons _and_ angels. There would be blind spots and those blind spots would be almost imperceptible; like some kind of perception filter.

They didn't even bother with a motel room. Dean drove straight to the hospital where the unwitting victim of their 'strange incident' was recovering. Inias let Dean take the lead as they lied their way into the facility. Apparently a Press badge would get you anywhere. He made a note of that.

"Mr. Hinckley? Hi." Dean stepped into the room. "Uh, we're from the, uh, Geneva Gazette. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your _ambush_."

Inias resisted the urge to reprimand Dean for the cruel pun. The burned man didn't look very impressed.

"Yeah, well... I'd laugh too if it didn't feel like the sun just ate my face."

"It's a metaphor," Castiel clarified. Inias absentmindedly wondered if humans always needed such clarification. Following Castiel's lead, he corrected.

"Actually, it's a simile. His use of the word 'like'—"

"Sorry," Dean interrupted, scowling at the both of them. Inias wondered where they'd transgressed. "Uh, now, in the police report, it said that the, uh—the bush, it talked to you, yeah?"

The man in the bed looked embarrassed. "Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but, yeah."

"What did it say?" Inias stepped forward despite Dean's warning glance.

"No clue." Mr. Hinckley shrugged. "Sounded like Klingon to me."

"Gonna need exact words."

Hinckley looked at Dean as if _he_ was the crazy one. "Are you serious?"

Castiel's head poked around, studying Dean briefly before nodding. "That's his serious face, yes."

Inias was certain that it had been a rhetorical question, but he decided that bringing up grammatical errors would likely irritate Dean. Especially with the way he rolled his eyes at Castiel's words.

"Please, Mr. Hinckley." Inias tried to sound encouraging. "It's important."

Hinckley shrugged. "Sounded something like... sol-voch." He paused. "Yeah. Sol-voch-tay."

Inias frowned, glancing at Castiel. Why Samandriel would have been screaming out SOLVOCT was beyond him. It sounded suspiciously like programming and that only increased his fear. If Crowley was brainwashing him...

"Thank you, Mr. Hinckley. You've been very helpful." Dean smiled, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"Yeah. Sure." Hinckley just looked confused.

Dean turned to leave and Castiel followed. Inias went to, but paused. His senses were still extended and one of the things they were relaying to him nagged at him. He felt bad enough that his mate's pain had so badly damaged this man, and while he couldn't spare the energy it would take to heal his burns, there _was_ something he _could_ do.

He stepped to Mr. Hinckley's bedside and before the protests had even left the human's mouth, Inias pressed two fingers to his burned forehead. When he removed them, Hinckley was staring at him in a similar fashion as he had Dean.

"What the hell...?"

"You had a large blockage in your left ventricle. Within a month it would have been large enough to cause cardiac arrest." Inias took a step back. "I removed it."

Hinckley's mouth worked silently and a blend of awe and fear washed through his eyes. Before the words "Who are you?!" had a chance to fully leave his lips, Inias spread his wings and vanished from the human's perception; sailing through the adjacent dimension and rejoining Dean and Castiel in the hall outside.

Dean shot a glance over his shoulder as the flutter of wings subsided, replaced with a fresh set of footsteps.

"Well, what do you think? Mean anything to you two?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. It's Enochian. It means 'obey'."

"Obey? Obey what?"

Inias met Castiel's gaze and in an instant knew that the older angel had read every emotion there was to read. Without speaking a word, Castiel extended a soot-black wing, draping it comfortingly over Inias' shoulders and his own trembling wings, tucked close to his vessel's back. He nodded and Inias took the prompt.

"We don't know," he replied. "But the... The amount of pain Samandriel must be in not just to manifest through shrubbery but to burn." He stopped, swallowed, and reigned in his emotions. "We have to find him. Before it's too late."

"Okay." Dean looked Inias in the eye and the angel could see genuine empathy. "Okay, well, look, a sign like that—Alfie can't be too far, right? So we'll just start at the bush and work our way out."

"And look for what exactly?" Castiel interjected. "Crowley could have him anywhere."

If it was possible to shrug with one's face, Dean managed it. "Well, if I know Crowley, the place will be swarming with demons. So we'll just drive till we see ugly."

'Drive' didn't sound promising, but Inias wasn't about to protest. It would be thorough this way, and thorough was what they needed.

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* * *

The drive was slow and quiet. All three of the vehicle's occupants were too busy staring out the window to do much else. They surveiled office blocks under construction, abandoned factories, empty warehouses, old churches, and foreclosed houses. Anywhere where there was ample room and no one around. But that was the problem. No one around. No demons, no Hellhounds. Nothing.

The tension in the car started to rise and eventually it was Castiel who broke the silence.

"Why did you never return home?"

It took Dean a moment to realize the question wasn't aimed at him. His eyes flicked between the two angels before returning to the road ahead. Inias swallowed.

"I was afraid of the consequences."

Castiel cocked his head. "What consequences?"

"How do you think I survived?" Inias didn't take his eyes off the passing streets. "Our entire garrison was slaughtered by the Leviathans and yet here I am." A furtive glance met Castiel's confused eyes. Inias felt his gut clench as he continued. "I ran, Castiel. I ran and hid like a coward. Our garrison stood and fought and died, and instead of dying with honour by their side I turned my back and fled." He returned his gaze to the streets outside. "I know the penalty for cowardice."

There was a cold, heavy silence for a long time, broken only by the rumble of the Impala's engine and the sound of passing traffic.

"There was no way to defeat them. No one could blame you for fleeing. The entire garrison should have." Castiel's head was down in silent mourning.

"We had a Prophet to protect," Inias reminded him. "I abandoned those under my command!"

"There are so few of us left." Castiel's voice was a murmur. "Each and every one still alive is a blessing. I thank our Father for giving you the sense to flee from that fool's errand, and so will the rest of Heaven." Inias' spine straightened at the bark that entered Castiel's voice. "If we succeed in saving Samandriel, Heaven will simply be glad to have another mated pair capable of producing offspring. Greater sins than yours have been forgiven."

Inias swallowed, feeling like a fledgling that had just been reprimanded. "I apologize," he replied on sheer reflex. Castiel was his superior. He'd never talked back to a superior.

"Samandriel believed you lost," Castiel grumbled. "He grieved you."

"I thought it better for him to be mated to one who had fallen with honour rather than one who had returned in disgrace."

It was clear that Castiel wanted to say more, but Dean cleared his throat and pulled the Impala up next to a fence.

"Wow, will you look at that? Our ninth abandoned factory. Ain't that America?" He shot a sidelong glance at Castiel as the angel surveyed the complex through Dean's binoculars. "Hey, what do you say, this doesn't pan out, we head back to that beer-and-bacon happy hour about a mile back, huh?"

Inias narrowed his eyes. If he wasn't mistaken, the invitation to share a meal was common courtship behaviour amongst humans. He wondered if Dean had intended it that way.

"Wait a minute, Dean." Castiel seemed not to have noticed the implications. "Those derelicts, they're demons. I can see their true faces." He passed the binoculars to Dean. Dean sighed, looking defeated, and took the binoculars.

"Crowley's got that many hell monkeys outside, he'd got to have at least double inside."

"And angel warding," Inias added. "I can feel it."

Dean didn't look impressed. "Well, you two, me, and a demon knife ain't gonna cut it."

"Okay. I'll get Sam." Castiel's wings flared open.

"No. We don't need Sam." Dean snapped.

"But you just said—"

"Look, if Sam wanted in, he'd be here, okay? I got a better idea."

As Dean pulled away from the factory, Inias felt his stomach twist into a knot. His mate was in that building. Were it not for the warding it would be nothing more than a short flight. It physically pained him to allow Dean to drive away.

As if sensing his discomfort, Dean threw a glance over his shoulder, his eyes full of sympathy.

"Hang in there, buddy. We'll be back."

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* * *

They left the Impala secured in the parking lot of the nearby airport. It had been Inias' idea. It was a lot where cars could be left for long periods of time without being suspect, and a busy enough one that any roaming demons would be unlikely to spot the Impala. He didn't want to risk tipping off Crowley. Not when they were so close to rescuing Samandriel. Dean had looked vaguely impressed. Impressed enough to not complain about the cost of parking.

After a quick check to be certain they weren't being observed, the two angels took off, carrying Dean with them across the country and to the houseboat he'd specified. It belonged to a hunter named Garth Fitzgerald IV and was currently the hiding place of the Prophet Kevin Tran.

Kevin greeted Inias with more warmth than the angel had expected. He accepted Inias' plea for forgiveness and offered condolences for the angels who had died defending him. Inias remembered finding Ra'amiel and Satqiel's bodies and briefly grimaced before thanking Kevin for his kindness. The two had been another mated pair. He comforted himself with the knowledge that they had at least died together.

When Dean and Castiel got down to business, Inias took his leave, stepping through the hatch and making his way up onto the deck.

Despite the hunter's insistence on calling it a houseboat, the _Fizzle's Folly_ was most certainly a ship. Inias wasn't certain how Garth could have acquired the vessel; it was his understanding that such things were costly. But it was clear that at one time the safehouse had been an industrial operation. It would have taken closer inspection to determine whether it had been a small shipping vessel, a whaling ship, or a fishing trawler—Inias wasn't curious enough.

Instead he wandered the upper deck, spreading his wings and letting the sea breeze ruffle his feathers. Out on the bow he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths and relishing the salt smell. He could feel the subtle rise and fall of the deck; could hear the lapping of the water on the hull, the cream of the gulls and the croak of the ravens.

The ocean was the one thing he and Samandriel had had in common. Inias had been a soldier from the moment he reached adulthood. He had been raised for combat and bloodshed. It had been all he knew. Samandriel was a gardener. By all the usual customs they would never have met. Gardeners remained in Eden with Joshua. They tended the flora and managed the fauna. At night they would communally roost in a copse of overgrown redwoods. Soldiers rarely visited the Garden. It held no fascination; except perhaps to observe how various predatory species killed their prey. An educational exercise Inias had been subject to more than once.

But the ocean had held sway over Inias since before he fledged. He had taken to running off in the evenings and early mornings, escaping to the beach to explore the tide pools, to ride the wind with the small grey-and-white pterosaurs, to collect shells and play with polished stones. He was always alone, but the sounds, sights, and smells of the sea were irresistible to him.

Even as an adult he made his sojourns to the coasts. Hester went with him once, but she didn't find the same interest in it. While the others of his garrison were courting mates or tirelessly performing duties, he was still spending long, lone hours meandering on the sands and pebbles and detritus of the coastlines.

It was a day much like this one on which Inias found another of his kind on the beach. There was a brisk wind off the sea which whipped salt spray into Inias' eyes and feathers and tossed great rolling waves onto the sand.

Darting and tumbling amongst those waves was another angel. In fact, he almost seemed camouflaged against the seafoam; his silvery-white feathers nearly disappearing. An enchanting, melodious laugh rang out over the roar of the sea.

Inias paused in his usual route, making his way down to where the sand was wet. It wasn't long before the other angel was thrown unceremoniously clear of the reach of the lashing water. He shook his feathers as dry as he could, still laughing as he bowed his head in acknowledgement to Inias.

"Warrior," he greeted with a smile.

Inias blinked. "How do you...?"

The angel let out a soft chuckle, as if Inias' question was the silliest he'd ever been asked. "It's the way you carry yourself. Head high, wings tucked close. You're like a raptor ready to spring."

"I apologize."

Again with the little laugh. "Don't. There's nothing wrong with being what you are. Vigilance keeps you alive, right?" Blue eyes blinked, suddenly uncertain. "I wasn't interrupting you, was I?"

"Of course not." Inias glanced around at the waves and the sand. "I... I just like to come here when I'm off duty."

The other's smile widened. "Me too." He sat straighter. "My name's Samandriel."

"Inias." He bowed his head. "Captain in the garrison beneath Archangel Raphael. You?"

White feathers ruffled in a shrug. "I'm just a gardener. Nothing special."

And that was that. The soldier met the gardener. They ended up spending a good deal of time together on the many beaches of Earth. They went from acquaintances to friends; from friends to... something more. Neither ever truly planned their courtship; it just happened. Inias could never pinpoint the exact moment he realized he loved Samandriel, but he certainly remembered the day they consummated their new pair-bond. He would never forget their first mating. Never.

They'd been by the sea then, too.

At the edges of Inias' perception he felt Castiel leave. He was half certain he knew where the other angel was headed. There were things they needed, not least of which was Dean's brother. Despite the human's protests, both angels had privately agreed that Sam Winchester was necessary to the operation. A few demonic cluster bombs weren't going to cut it, and they couldn't risk the Prophet. Unless Garth chose to return in time, they were going to need someone else. Sam being the obvious choice.

Castiel had assured Inias that he was ready to deal with Dean's whining. Fortunate, as Inias' patience was at its limits.

He leaned on the bow rail, letting the sounds of the ocean lull him into a sleep-like meditation. Field rest. It was all he could allow himself. He needed to be ready.

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* * *

Castiel's return roused Inias from his blissfully blank state. When his eyes opened the sun had begun to set, painting the ocean shades of red and violet. Lights had begun to flick on in the distant high-rises.

"I'm on my way, _A HOATH_," Inias whispered before heading inside.

He heard raised voices before he even opened the hatch. It was easy enough to identify the sources as the two Winchesters. Inias internally sighed, stepping through the hatchway as Dean snapped:

"I told you we didn't need him."

Inias watched as Castiel flicked his primaries in frustration.

"We need _everything_, Dean!" the older angel growled. "And I need both of you, as you say, to stow your crap. Can you do that?"

None of them appeared to have noticed Inias' entrance, so they jumped when he spoke.

"My mate's life is in jeopardy. Until he is safe I would appreciate it if you would both stop acting like fledglings."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, chastened, if not reconciled. At the very least they appeared capable of working together. Castiel nodded at Inias and both angels went to work on Kevin's instructions. They had sufficient supplies for two demon bombs. Hopefully that would be enough.

_Enochian_

_**A HOATH**__: (ah hoh-ah-teh): _My love.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Warnings: **__Violence_

**Torn and Saved**

It was dark when the four-man rescue team reappeared in the parking lot of Hastings Municipal Airport. The Impala was untouched and hopefully undetected. Inias clambered into the back with Castiel and the carefully packed supplies. If the vehicle had been confining before, it was even more so now. Castiel seemed used to it, at least.

The Winchesters were still barely speaking to one another. The drive to the factory passed in near-total silence. Inias tried to keep his focus on the passing streetlights, but it inevitably returned to thoughts of Samandriel; of what was being done to him. Of whether they were too late.

They rolled up to the factory, careful to remain out of earshot of the guards. Inias and Castiel flew free of the car; the younger wincing as Sam and Dean shut their doors. _Be quiet..._

"So," Castiel began. "There are four main points of warding—north, south, east, and west—and four Enochian symbols, like this that you need to destroy before Inias and I can enter." He drew the symbol on Sam's palm.

"Okay, so, what? We go in, take care of the hell mooks, and you two extract the angel?"

"Yes." Castiel looked from Dean to Inias. "After killing so many, I need to save at least this one."

Inias smiled at his former commander as Sam replied. "Sounds like a plan."

"Okay. Let's do this."

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* * *

Inias prodded at the warding several times as they waited. He was starting to be able to feel what was happening inside. The wards were thinner but still impenetrable. No matter how hard he tried, how hard he pushed, no part of him could get through.

Worse, sounds were now filtering through. The heartbeats of the humans and the high, electromagnetic buzz of demons were things Inias was accustomed to. But now and then they were joined by heart-wrenching, agonized screams. Screams in a timbre and pitch that could only be Samandriel.

He wanted to weep at his own helplessness, but he forged his grief into anger instead. Anger he could use. He paced at the edges of the wards, his wings open and ready for flight. His heart was hammering.

Finally, after what felt like lifetimes, the warding fell; the whine of its energies fading into silence. Inias bolted; inside before Dean had even opened his mouth to call. Castiel was strangely hesitant behind him.

Once within the walls of the factory, Samandriel's pain hit Inias full force. He couldn't feel it _per se_, but the other angel's grace was throwing out waves of emotion so intense they staggered Inias. Castiel was bent double, panting. Not for the first time, Inias wondered what was wrong.

"Cas! Hey! You okay?" Sam immediately lent support.

Castiel's wings twitched and drooped, almost submissively. "It must be the sigils. I'm not at full power."

Dean readied his spray paint. "Sam, help me muss this crap."

"There's no time!" Inias protested.

Dean tried the lock on the door but Inias' patience was exhausted.

"Move," he ordered.

Neither Dean nor Sam hesitated. They didn't need to see Inias' wings to read his aggression. His knuckles were white, gripping his blade like talons. He was scowling at the door, his eyes fixed like a bird of prey, and in the low lighting they were reflective like a cat's.

The second the Winchesters were clear, Inias ripped the door clean off its and straight back into the wall where it embedded itself in the concrete.

He didn't wait. He flew the few meters to where Crowley and his head torturer stood, his blade flashing. Crowley vanished, but Inias' knife found purchase in the other demon's eye socket. Brief golden flashes erupted behind the vessel's retinas before he fell, his hand having never reached his assortment of blades.

By the time the demon hit the floor, Sam and Dean had joined the fray, grappling with a particularly large demon. Castiel staggered in behind them, looking for all the world like he was seeing something other than his actual surroundings.

Inias dismissed his blade and hurried to the side of the prone and bloodied figure strapped in the chair. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this.

Samandriel was slumped over; held aloft only by the heavy leather straps across his chest. The flesh of his arms, chest, and face was flayed; blood caked on his skin and soaked into the fabric of his vessel's clothes. He stank of stale sweat, dried blood, tears, and things Inias didn't particularly want to identify. His hair was plastered to his skull; his wings were mangled and missing most of their feathers. His grace was in tatters; too weak to heal the vessel, let alone himself. Worst of all was the grotesque crown of thorns weighing down his head. The mock halo of titanium was sparklingly clean, reflecting Inias' own grief-stricken face. Bisecting its smooth surface were six long metal picks. All of them were embedded in Samandriel's head.

Inias took a steadying breath, extending his grace out from his fingertips as he had with the door, twisting the first pick cleanly out of the vessel's brain, skull, and flesh and out of the crown. Samandriel didn't even twitch.

Inias removed four more of the picks with no response of any kind from Samandriel. He didn't start to move at all until the final pick, the large one in the center, slid free of his head. As blood started to run down his nose, Samandriel's eyes opened.

Inias lifted the contraption away, tossing it aside and returning his hands to his mate. Samandriel raised his head and relief morphed to shock in his eyes.

"Inias..." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"It's okay," Inias cradled Samandriel's face. "It's all over. You're safe now." He leaned down, pressing his lips gently to Samandriel's. When he pulled away there were tears on the other angel's cheeks.

The leather straps came away easily and then Samandriel was clinging desperately to Inias' shoulders. The older angel ran soothing hands over abused wings and down his trembling back. Castiel joined them, still staggering, just as two more demons charged into the room. As much as it pained him to leave Samandriel's side, Inias knew the Winchesters would need his help.

"Castiel," Inias squeezed his older brother's arm. "Get Samandriel out of here. I'll handle the demons."

Samandriel whimpered a protest as Castiel gripped his shoulder and spread his coal-black wings, taking off and vanishing from the warehouse.

Inias' blade dropped down into his hand again and he whirled into the fray. A slice knocked the largest demon's hand away from Sam's head and a simple slap of hand to forehead finished off the demon in a flare of white light.

The second newcomer presented a significantly greater challenge. He was older, that much Inias could see. By his age and bearing he'd guess Greek, fourth or fifth century BC. Still young compared to Inias, but the angel blade in his hand was held with practiced ease and his eyes assessed Inias like a wolf looking for a weak spot in a herd. Inias let the demon come to him.

His movements showed training; his strikes were quick and controlled, his blocks were steady. He came close to slicing Inias' flank and there was a near miss with his right shoulder. But the demon's manoeuvres were textbook Grecian hand-to-hand. Eventually patterns showed up. Angels were built for patterns.

In the span of a second the fight became a probability map in Inias' head, and his victory a series of waypoints: Feint right, duck blade, slice beneath ribcage, shatter kneecap, block elbow, twist arm until blade is dropped, finish.

The demon hit the floor, dead, with a look of surprise forever frozen on his face. Sam, meanwhile, finished off the last, who'd had Dean in a chokehold. For now, at least, the warehouse was quiet.

"Let's get the hell outta here while we still can," Dean coughed.

Sam nodded at Inias. "Go. We'll catch up."

He didn't need to be told twice. He could feel Samandriel and Castiel outside and he smiled to himself as he spread his wings, gliding past the walls and remerging in the cool night air. He was about fifty feet from the Impala, where Castiel supported Samandriel's battered form.

He narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right. Castiel was stock still and silent, an unflinching grip on Samandriel, whose wings were tucked in unmistakable fear. A fresh wave of adrenaline rushed into Inias' borrowed bloodstream.

"Castiel?"

A flash of steel and his heart stopped.

Without hesitation, without even drawing his own blade, Inias bolted. He crossed the distance between them faster than a thought. Just fast enough to catch Castiel's wrist and still it. Just fast enough to halt the blade that hovered only millimetres from Samandriel's heart.

"What are you doing?!" Inias howled. "Castiel?!"

"Samandriel is compromised. I have to do this." Castiel was monotone, as if he were reciting lines. "Release my arm."

"No! What's wrong with you?!"

"Inias, that is an order."

"He's my mate! You can't order me—"

Castiel lunged, knocking Inias down onto the asphalt. The blade in Castiel's hand sliced dangerously close to Inias' stomach. He came down and Inias rolled away in time to avoid what would have been a finishing blow. Samandriel yelped as the point of Castiel's blade skittered, spitting sparks, across the pavement.

Inias spun into a crouch, putting himself squarely between Castiel and Samandriel, drawing his blade and blocking another blow from Castiel. The other angel's eyes were blank, like he wasn't even there anymore. They grappled, catching each other's wrists. With weapons pinned, Inias took his chance.

"Castiel, listen to me. Whoever is controlling you, you have to fight! Resist, brother!"

There was no response, no change in his expression. He was like a shark—completely fixated on his prey. Devoid of remorse.

"Castiel, please!" Inias was forced to his knees by Castiel's superior strength. The blades hovered between them. One slip up and someone would die.

"Cas?" Dean's appalled voice called from the corner of the warehouse. The Winchesters' footsteps raced down the alley. "Cas, what the hell?!"

There was a moment more of stone-cold, unyielding pressure from Castiel. A brief moment where Inias thought that the other angel would succeed in driving his blade into his chest. But the very next second, in a flutter of wings, Castiel was gone. By the time Sam and Dean reached them, Inias had fallen forward, having lost the force he'd been pressing back against. His blade bounced away along the asphalt.

Both humans hung back, uncertain. Understandable, seeing as they had no way of knowing what had just happened. In that moment, however, Inias couldn't care less about the two mortals. All that mattered was the panting figure slumped against the rear door of the Impala.

Inias scrambled to Samandriel's side and his battered mate immediately snagged fistfuls of his suit. He was wide-eyed with fear; shaking and breathing hard.

"Please don't leave me," he whimpered.

"I'm not going anywhere." Inias leaned forward, pulling Samandriel into a kiss which was desperately returned. He wanted to weep with relief. Twice he'd almost lost his mate; his mate who should never have been in the line of fire in the first place. His heart ached to see him so broken, beaten, and torn to pieces, but equally it swelled simply to feel him in his arms again.

Their lips parted and there were fresh tears on Samandriel's cheeks.

"I thought you were dead." His voice shook. "When the garrison was slaughtered and you didn't come home..."

Inias pulled Samandriel against his chest, the younger's head falling snugly in the curve of his shoulder as he collapsed in Inias' arms.

"I'm so sorry." He inhaled, ignoring the smell of blood of sweat and searching out that scent that was uniquely Samandriel's: Like pine and wet earth and jasmine. "I should have come home."

Off to his right, Inias heard someone clear their throat.

"I hate to break this up," Dean said, "but we have got to get out of here."

"He's right." Inias kissed Samandriel's bloody cheek. "Can you stand?"

"I don't think so."

Sam swooped in without waiting to be asked, helping Inias lift the younger angel to his feet. He groaned in pain as several deep gashes started bleeding again. Between them it wasn't difficult to load Samandriel into the back seat, his head coming to rest on Inias' lap. The rumble of the engine was comforting this time, rather than stifling, especially when they pulled away and left that warehouse behind them.

Inias brushed blood-matted hair out of Samandriel's face, running a soothing hand over his shoulder and down his arm. It was clear that his mate needed sleep. Angels didn't require it as often as humans, but Samandriel had been captive for a long time.

"_PAGE A HOATH_," he whispered, squeezing Samandriel's hand. "_GEH COD_."

Samandriel smiled weakly and let out a long sigh. His wings folded as comfortably as they could, considering. It took fifteen minutes, almost on the dot, for Samandriel to drift off to sleep. For a moment he was still, the glow of passing streetlights streaming over a face that was serene despite the dried blood and bruises.

A second later his eyes opened again, but Inias could tell by his wings that Samandriel was still sleeping. He stirred, gasped in pain, and collapsed back into Inias' lap.

His gaze was fixed on the front of the car; fixed on Sam.

"Sam? Dean?" There was a different quality to his voice. He sounded younger.

"What's up, Alfie?" Dean asked.

"Holy shit, it _is_ you."

Sam and Dean shared a glance and Sam looked back toward their crippled passenger. He shot a questioning glance at Inias.

"It's the vessel," Inias clarified.

"We've met before?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." The vessel winced as the Impala bounced over a rough patch on the road. "I was the, uh, pet Tarantula kid."

Sam's eyes widened. "Matt?"

Matt nodded, grinning past the pain in his eyes. "Didn't you say things'd get better in college?" He laughed at Sam's stricken expression. "Hey. It's okay. I'm kidding."

"Why the hell does your tag say 'Alfie'?" Dean sounded somewhat frustrated.

"It's a nickname. I got really into Hitchcock and a few friends and I were making short films. They started calling me Alfie and it kinda stuck."

They hit another bump in the road and Matt yelped. Sam reached back and grabbed his free hand.

"Hang in there, Matt." He turned to Dean and, in a whisper, implored: "We're not going to make it to Rufus' cabin. He needs a hospital."

"We can't take an angel into a hospital," Dean replied. "Look, we've got Inias. He'll keep him alive. Just talk to the kid. Keep him distracted."

Inias nodded encouragingly at Sam when the human turned.

"So, Matt. You went off to college, right?"

Matt coughed and thick, dark blood oozed out of the gash on his chest. Inias covered the wound with his hand and let his grace knit the flesh back together. Matt hissed, but conscious of the attempt to distract him, answered the question.

"University of Washington."

"Go Dawgs," Sam replied, chuckling at Matt's surprised expression. "I got to know some of the teams while I was at Stanford." He twisted around a little more in his seat. "What are you studying?"

"Drama major. Filmmaking."

"Nice. Still living at home?"

Matt swallowed, a look of horror dawning on his face. "Oh god... Dad... I... I've been in that damn warehouse for two months! He... he probably thinks I'm dead!"

Sam whipped around, rooting through the glove compartment until he retrieved an old Nokia and checked the charge.

"Here," he said, passing the phone back to Matt. "Call him."

"It's almost three in the morning—"

"Call him."

Matt took the phone after a moment of hesitation; dialling with shaking hands. He shifted uncomfortably and Inias sealed another open and bleeding wound. There was a silence. Sam and Dean said nothing; the only sound the faint trace of the ringing phone. Inias could just hear the sound of a voice on the other end.

"Dad?" Matt's voice was rough and hoarse. Too many weeks of screaming had taken their toll. "I'm fine... I swear, I'm fine. I'm with the Winchesters... Yeah, Sam and Dean..."

The Impala lurched over a pothole and Matt whimpered.

"No, it's okay... I'm just a little beaten up... You don't want to know... I mean it, dad. You..."

As Matt attempted to explain to his father what had happened—attempted to comfort his dad and assure him that he was unharmed—Inias turned his attention to the tattered wings sprouting from the young man's back. They were twitching and shivering, his mate clearly dreaming. Inias ran his hands tenderly over the ravaged feathers, preening them, plucking out those beyond repair. He sealed the deepest of the wounds and spread fresh oil over his plumage. Already, he looked better. Washing the blood off, however, would have to wait.

"We're driving to a safehouse... I don't... Sam? Where are we headed?" Matt asked.

"Whitefish, Montana."

"Whitefish... Yeah... You don't have to... Dad..." Matt sighed, his voice softening. "I know... I'm so sorry. I would have told you if I had the chance... Okay... I know... Believe me, I'm glad I'm out of there too... I'll hand you over to Sam for that... Yeah, I... I love you too, dad... Okay. See you soon."

He handed the phone off to Sam and settled against Inias' lap again, shivering.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his hand squeezing Inias' knee. "I know you did it for Samandriel, but thanks for stopping Cas."

Inias wrapped a wing around him. "I'm just glad I was fast enough."

6&6&6&6&6&6&6&6

* * *

The rest of the drive alternated between quiet stretches where Inias could almost have dozed off and moments of abject terror. Twice Samandriel woke screaming and struggling and Inias had to soothe him back to sleep. Several times, wounds reopened and had to be tended. In a moment of wakefulness, Matt lamented their lack of anaesthetics.

When the Impala rolled up next to the old Whitefish cabin both Matt and Samandriel were sound asleep. The brothers went straight to work setting up wards and angel-proofing; Inias showing them how to write in specific exceptions. The moment the sigils were complete, Inias bundled Samandriel in his arms and carried him, still asleep, into the cabin.

"Are the wards working?" Dean asked, rooting through cupboards for medical supplies.

"Perfectly," Inias replied. "Samandriel and I can come and go but the rest of the Host is blocked as normal."

"Awesome." He tossed two first aid kits onto the sofa and dragged the camp bed out in front of the fireplace. "Sam, we should get this fire going."

Inias eased Samandriel down onto the creaky old camp bed, igniting the fireplace with a snap of his fingers before Sam had even retrieved the matches. Samandriel stirred at the sharp sound, groaning in pain and fear. Inias knelt at his side, brushing errant strands of hair aside, soothing him as gently as he could.

"It's alright, _A HOATH_. You can rest now. I'm here." He pressed a feather-light kiss to Samandriel's eyelid.

"I thought you were dead," Samandriel whispered. "After we recovered Hester's body, and Ra'amiel's and Satqiel's... When the Leviathans slaughtered your garrison..." He swallowed, his voice wavering. "When the survivors were scrambling home, I waited for you. I waited all night. When you didn't come back I thought... I thought I'd lost you. We looked for your body..."

"I'm so sorry, Samandriel." Dean came with cloths and an old, cracked ceramic bowl full of lukewarm water which Inias accepted with a nod of thanks. "I was a coward. I ran and I was ashamed... and I was afraid of the punishment." Wetting the first cloth, he continued. "I should have come home to you and endured the lashes with my head held high or died alongside my brothers. I shouldn't have abandoned you."

Samandriel's eyes opened, his vessel's irises just as bright a blue as his own. "I'm glad you ran." He lifted shaking hands to Inias' cheeks. "I wouldn't have been able to bear it if you'd died. Just that year alone was too much. But if you had come home, Naomi would have snared you like she did the others... You wouldn't have been there to save me."

"Naomi could never make me hurt you or prevent me from defending you." He took Samandriel's hands from his cheeks, pressing a kiss to one palm before laying them at his sides. He was beyond gentle as he began wiping away the layers of dried blood and grime.

"_A TOANT G_," Samandriel whispered, eyes closing again as the warm cloth brushed along his cheekbones, erasing weeks of filth and tear trails.

Inias smiled, leaning down to press his lips to Samandriel's. "_A TOANT G_."

6&6&6&6&6&6&6&6

* * *

It didn't take long for Samandriel to fall asleep again. Inias remained as gentle as possible; working carefully around open slices and scuffs. The water in the basin had rapidly changed from pink to red. Not long after he drifted off, Sam swooped in to change the water and Inias enlisted Dean's help in divesting Samandriel of the blood-soaked uniform he still wore.

With his clothes removed, the full extent of the damage became abundantly clear. Samandriel's entire upper chest and both his shoulders were covered in jagged, criss-crossing cuts. Some were nothing more than pale scars, some red and freshly healed. Most were open and weeping, a few so deep that bone showed through. In one spot it looked as if the blade had scratched into his sternum.

Inias took up a fresh cloth and returned to his work. As the blood came away the bruises beneath were revealed; black, purple, and green blotches on his otherwise pale skin.

Dean proved proficient at stitching up the deeper wounds; sterilizing and dressing them one by one. Samandriel's arms and comparatively untouched legs took little time to patch up and once both Inias and Dean were satisfied, they slipped him into fresh clothes: a thick, green flannel shirt, boxers, and a pair of jeans that Dean retrieved from one of the duffels in the corner. They were a tad big but at least they were clean.

With the third and final cloth and another basin of water, Inias set to work on Samandriel's hair and wings. The caked-in blood took a long time to clear, especially with how delicate Inias was being. But with each pass of the cloth Samandriel's hair lightened; turning from a dark reddish-brown to a soft sandy tone. Getting the blood off his feathers was more of a challenge, and some spots proved to be permanently stained. They would remain until Samandriel next moulted.

Inias pulled the blankets over his sleeping mate and, with a kiss to his forehead, retreated to the kitchenette with the now-crimson cloth and water. Sam and Dean watched him expectantly.

"How's he doing?" Dean asked.

"Better now." Inias poured away the water. "The sleep will do him good."

The Winchesters looked at each other briefly before continuing in more conspiratorial tones.

"Okay, what the hell?" Dean snapped. "He comes to me wanting to rescue Samandriel and then tries to kill him?"

"Samandriel seems to be under the impression that one of our siblings has somehow gained control over the Host, Castiel included."

"I told you something was off with him since he got back from Purgatory." The anger in Dean's voice belied the sadness in his eyes. Old pain had been dredged up. Inias chose to leave it be. The older Winchester didn't seem the sort to discuss such things with someone he barely knew.

"So someone's messing with him?" Sam looked to Inias.

"Specifically, Naomi," Inias replied.

"Why would this Naomi want Cas to kill another angel?"

Inias paused and sighed. "To be honest, I have no idea. I don't even know who she is. I've never met or heard of an angel named Naomi. If she _is _an angel then I wasn't high enough on the totem pole to have clearance to know about her."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'if she's an angel'?"

"I mean that I don't know for sure. She could be anything."

"Leviathan?" Sam asked.

Inias shivered at the thought. "Possibly."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, visibly agitated in a way that only mammals and birds seemed capable of, and turned to his brother. "You know what, man? I got this. You go."

"What?"

"Don't you have a girl to get back to?"

Inias really couldn't tell if that was bitterness in Dean's voice or just exhaustion. There were bags under his eyes but the angel knew that that was nothing new. The Winchesters had had many a sleepless night in the past.

Sam looked bewildered. "Yeah... I guess I do. Um..." He paused. "Since when are you on the Amelia bandwagon?"

Dean shrugged, making his way to the fridge. "I don't know. I'm just tired of all the fighting." He pulled two beers from the bottom shelf, tossing one to Inias and cracking open the other. "And, you know, maybe I'm a little bit jealous. I could never separate myself from the job like you could." He took a swig. "Hell, maybe it's time for at least one of us to be happy."

Inias inspected the bottle as Sam replied, cautiously amused.

"What, you being such a big hugger and all?" He smiled. "She does make me happy, and she could be waiting for me if I went back. I'd be a very lucky man if she was. But now..." There was discomfort in his pause, but relief too. "With everything staring down at us; with all that's left to be done... I don't know."

Dean huffed a non-committal noise and Sam answered with a "Yeah." Inias couldn't help but see the similarities between the two men and the angels who would have used them as vessels. Granted, Sam and Dean weren't intimate as Michael and Lucifer had been. They weren't lovers or mates as the angels always would be. But in Dean's calm acceptance and Sam's indecision, Dean's stillness and steadiness and Sam's need for freedom and change, Inias saw his two eldest brothers.

_As above, so below._

Dean swallowed another swig of his beer. "Well, I do know this: Whatever you decide, decide. Both feet in or both feet out. Anything in between is what gets you dead."

"Yeah. I keep hearing that. I'm... gonna take a walk. Clear my head."

Sam slipped out of the cabin, leaving a not-quite-frosty silence. Dean sighed and lacking anything to add, Inias opened the beer he'd been given and took a sip.

A mistake, he quickly decided. The fermented liquid was disgusting. Inias made a face, forcing himself to swallow the mouthful and laid the bottle down on the counter. Dean glanced at him and smirked.

"Baby."

_Enochian_

_**PAGE A HOATH**__: (pah-geh ah hoh-ah-teh) _Rest, my love

_**GEH COD**__: (geh-heh koh-deh)_ = You're safe

_**A TOANT G**__: (ah toh-an-teh geh) _= I love you


	3. Chapter 3

**Torn and Saved**

It was a quiet day in the cabin. Inias remained at Samandriel's side for much of it; changing the dressings on his wounds, calming him from his nightmares, assuring him in his wakeful moments that he was not imagining the cabin, that he was no longer in the warehouse with Crowley. A couple of times it was Matt, not Samandriel, who woke on the camp bed, shivering and hyperventilating. He calmed quickly when Inias sat with him, offering him water and squeezing his hand. Around noon, Dean left to pick up Matt's father at the airport and the two angels were left alone.

Inias sat by the head of the bed, running his fingers gently and affectionately through Samandriel's hair. The puckered wounds on his forehead were already sealing, which was a very good sign. The sunlight streaming in the windows had evidently done him some good.

Samandriel hummed contentedly, leaning into the caress, and Inias smiled. It was a relief to see him recovering. He knew the younger angel had not been trained or prepared in any way for such an ordeal. It wasn't something he was supposed to have faced. Gardeners weren't supposed to ever leave Heaven, let alone find themselves in a situation where capture by demons was even a possibility. Inias couldn't fathom what this Naomi had been thinking when she sent Samandriel on a task that should have been a soldier's. She couldn't possibly have been so naive as to think that no harm would come to him. It had to have been a calculated move, and the thought enraged Inias. That all of his mate's suffering could have been part of some scheme...

Blue eyes blinked open, grace shimmering behind his pupils for a second before they contracted. For that brief moment, all the damage of the last two months was gone. Samandriel's face filled with such untarnished, unadulterated love and adoration that he almost seemed to glow. Just like the day they'd met.

The illusion was shattered when he spoke; his voice rough and rasping.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Two hours," Inias replied, running his thumb over Samandriel's cheekbone. "Your vessel was awake during that time, but that's the longest you've slept so far."

"I guess that's a good sign." Samandriel shifted, stretching his wings to their full span, though Inias did notice him favouring the left. He didn't quite fold it properly underneath him afterward.

He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on Samandriel's forehead, earning a purr from his mate.

"A very good sign." He looked over Samandriel's bandaged wounds, and the scars and cuts on his face and neck. "How are you feeling?"

Samandriel's smile was half-hearted. "Better, I guess. I'm sore. My vessel's... damaged." He shrugged, then winced. "At least I know it's over." His hand stroked down Inias' arm, gripping at his sleeve as if he were afraid he'd disappear. "Where are the Winchesters?"

"Sam went for a walk and Dean is fetching Matthew's father."

"Oh." Samandriel looked uncertain. "Should he really see his son like this?" he asked, gesturing at his bruised and battered body.

"I imagine Dean will warn him."

"I hope so." He looked ashamed and Inias felt his brow furrow. He cupped two palms around Samandriel's jaw, tilting his face so their eyes met.

"What's wrong?"

Samandriel gulped. "I... I promised him that I'd only need him for the day. I said I'd get him back in time to spend the evening with his girlfriend. I promised." He shifted his eyes away from Inias. "If I was half the angel you are—"

"Don't do that to yourself," Inias cut in. "You are _not_ a soldier. They should not have sent you into that cess-pit without an escort. Our superiors knew you were vulnerable and they sent you anyway. You owe them _nothing_!"

Samandriel's eyes drifted shut, tears slipping out from beneath his long eyelashes. His jaw clenched, his wings shivering. "Naomi wanted me to be captured, didn't she? So she could keep an eye on Crowley."

"I don't know." Inias pulled Samandriel against himself, wrapping him in his wings. Samandriel melted into the embrace. "All I know is that it should have been me at that auction."

He felt Samandriel smile. "I would've liked to have seen Crowley's henchmen try to take _you_ down."

Inias smiled back, nuzzling the nape of his mate's neck. The vessel's down-soft hair tickled his temples, and there it was. That fresh earthy scent that was Samandriel. Inias inhaled deeply. It had been _far_ too long since he'd last caught that scent.

"I should let Matt prepare himself before his father arrives." Samandriel shifted, squeezing Inias' waist in a hug before backing away.

Inias released his mate, stroking his cheek once more. "I'll be here if you have need of me."

"I know," he smiled, pecking Inias on the cheek. Then he positioned himself stably, shut his eyes, and relinquished control. His wings folded behind him—at rest but awake—and his vessel crumpled in on himself. A shuddering exhale was broken by a groan of pain.

Inias propped Matt up, soothing his bruised ribs as best he could. The vessel ran his hand through his hair, wincing, but was surprisingly stoic.

"Thanks," Matt breathed. "Those bruises are really something."

"Thanks aren't necessary. I merely eased your pain; as anyone would have." Inias felt what he supposed humans would call 'awkward'. Only a moment ago he would have kissed the face before him and now that very same face was a complete stranger. He wasn't accustomed to interacting with the vessels of his brethren... especially not his mate. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Matt glanced at the clock. "It's past noon." Inias just looked confused, so Matt shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Over the years of observing Earth, Inias had at least learned which food items were generally considered appropriate for first meals. He just had to hope that Dean had stocked the cabin with more than that horrendous beer.

In the cupboards, Inias found a chaos of organic snack food the Winchesters had bought in the days of avoiding Sucrocorps' additives. Chips, pretzels, dried fruit that hadn't been touched since it had been tossed to the back. There were imported goods too; things that Sucrocorp hadn't got their hands on yet. The fridge was equally abysmal: beer, beer, and more beer, bacon, some expired cheese and sour milk. In what passed for a pantry he found cereals that had expired in 1995, and some two-year-old instant oatmeal. _And _some mould-ridden cream of wheat. He didn't particularly want to know how long it had been there; same went for the beef jerky. And that was not to mention the potatoes shoved in the back corner that had grown tendrils to rival any deep-sea cephalopod.

With a put-upon sigh, Inias took the oatmeal and set about 'refreshing' it. He momentarily considered whether he should really use up his grace just to make breakfast but he didn't particularly want to spend ten or twenty minutes cooking oats when a simple flick of his wrist could have the bowl full of perfectly good oatmeal in less than a second. He chose expediency.

Unfortunately there didn't seem to be anything in the cabin's less-than-inspiring stock of food that he could put on said oatmeal to sweeten it. It was his understanding that the meal was not nearly as tasty as it was nutritious. As if reading his mind, Matt called from the camp bed.

"Don't worry about putting sugar on it. I'm honestly too hungry to care."

Inias did as commanded, pouring a glass of water and taking both food and drink to the camp bed by the hearth. Matt thanked him and tucked in; falling silent while he scarfed down the steaming oatmeal.

Samandriel had evidently lost the ability to sustain his vessel at some point, apparently not too long ago seeing as Matt hadn't lost much weight. He wasn't dehydrated, but he ate like he hadn't seen food in days.

Inias well and truly did not know what to do with himself. He'd never been the most social in the garrison and that was with his own kind. Matt was human—mortal—and centuries of watching the Earth notwithstanding, Inias had no idea what to talk about with the young man.

Thankfully he was saved from having to sort that out first by Matt requesting his help to stagger into the shower and then by the rumble of the Impala outside. Dean had returned; which meant that the haggard, sleep-deprived man next to him was Larry Pike.

The man looked overwhelmed and exhausted but he kept looking at Dean like he was a god-send. Inias unlatched the bolt, opening the door for the two men. Dean nodded at him.

"Okay, like I said, Crowley really did a number on him." Dean spoke in hushed tones, glancing at Matt, who was still drying his hair. He was moving _very _slowly, not putting very much pressure on his head and avoiding the places where the picks had pierced his skin. Inias knew from helping him with his new dressings that the wounds were still paining him. He bore it well, for a human.

Both Inias and Dean remained in the kitchen to give Larry and Matt their space. Inias could well imagine how Larry was feeling. He supposed there was little difference between the feeling of seeing a mate for the first time in over a year and seeing a missing son for the first time in two months.

"So, what are you and Alfie planning on doing?" Dean settled back against the counter. "'Cause this ain't exactly the best place for you to hide. Cas knows about it, so this Naomi bitch probably does too."

Inias nodded. "I have a few places we can hide. I'll need to put up warding, but I intend to wait until Samandriel can move on his own."

"Understandable." Dean looked over at the hearth, smiling briefly as Larry squeezed Matt against himself, crying even as Matt told him over and over not to. "What are the odds, huh? Saving some kid twice?"

"Either you have astounding timing or the boy has no luck."

"That's what you get for saying yes to being an angel-condom."

Inias frowned. "Being a vessel is a great honour, Dean. As is taking a vessel. It was a great honour for my vessel to be chosen to bear me, and it was a great honour for me when he allowed me in." He paused, reading Dean's scepticism. "It's not a one-way street, Dean. Only angels like Zachariah believe that. I do not see humans as less than myself. Weaker, yes, and smaller, but not lesser."

"And yet you still drag them into danger without asking. Do you think that kid over there would have said yes if he knew he was signing up for two months of brutal torture?" Dean jabbed a finger toward the father and son. "Save me all that 'it's an honour' crap. _That_ right there is why I said no! That oh-so-caring-and-honoured archangel would have murdered my brother with _my _hands, along with half the people on this damn planet. And I was supposed to be _honoured_ I'd been chosen?"

Inias bowed his head and sighed. "In your situation, I can understand. But believe me when I say that I would never put a vessel in harm's way without need. And I would shield that vessel from the pain of torture, as I am certain that Samandriel would have." He looked Dean square in the eye. "We're not all dicks, Dean."

Dean laughed despite himself. "All right, all right. I get it. It's not all bad. But you've gotta understand; almost all the angels I've met have been grade-A douchebags."

"Am I?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I can't figure out if you've got a stick up your ass or if you're a deadpan little shit." Inias smirked as he continued. "But you stuck your neck out for Alfie, and, in my books, that counts for something."

* * *

6&6&6&6&6&6&6&6

Matt really didn't know what to do. He'd literally never seen his dad cry before. But here he was, clutching him and sobbing. He didn't have the heart to ask him to lay off, despite the screaming protests of his bruised ribs. He gulped.

"Dad, I'm okay... Why are you crying?"

Larry held him at arm's length, tears in trails down his cheeks. "You've been gone for two months, Matt! You went off to work and never came back to your dorm. I thought... I thought that if I ever saw you again it'd be because the police found your body." He shook. "Every time the phone rang I thought I was going to have to ID you..." He smiled, sniffing. "I've never been so happy to get a phone call at three AM."

His dad's hands withdrew, carefully avoiding the dressings. He looked pained as his eyes swept over the hodgepodge of bruises and cuts and scars. He lingered a long time looking at the angry red marks on Matt's forehead.

"What are those?"

Matt brushed his fingertips over the scabbed-over spots. They were still tender, but considering their origin he could hardly complain. Tender spots were better than brain damage.

"They, uh, had this Crown of Thorns thing," he replied. "I think Crowley was trying to probe the angel's brain."

Larry looked horrified. "So those were... You had..."

"Spikes in my head? Yeah."

His father paled, his hand running down his face, silent until he managed to splutter: "They were drilling into your brain!? While you were awake?"

"Dad, it's okay. Samandriel kept me from feeling most of it."

"Most of it?"

Matt sighed. "He couldn't keep it up forever, Dad. But he tried. I don't even remember the first two weeks."

"And the other six and a half?"

"On and off conscious; sometimes I could hear, but not see or feel... you know, one sense at a time." He ran his fingers through his hair. "There were only a couple of times I was actually fully conscious."

"And what happened—"

"Dad, do you really want me to describe being tortured by the King of Hell?"

Larry's head fell into his hands and he took a shaking breath. "You're right... You're right. I don't... I just want to know you're okay."

Matt nodded. "Well, I am. It's all right."

His father deflated, all the hours of sleeplessness hanging on him, weighing him down. Nevertheless, the hand that snared Matt's and held it had lost none of its strength. Matt couldn't have escaped that grip if he'd wanted to.

"How's Mom holding up?"

Larry chuckled. "I don't think she's stopped crying since you phoned."

Matt gulped. "What about Emily? She given up on me yet?"

The look that passed over his dad's face was hard to define. "No, she, uh... She never gave up. She kept us going. I think she had more hope than we did."

"Really?" Matt's eyebrows shot up. "She didn't... I dunno... move on? Find someone new?"

"No. Goodness, no. She's been looking for you."

"Really...?" Matt wasn't sure what to say. Sure, he and Emily had been close; they'd been dating for a year. But he'd never expected her to sit around waiting for him. Especially not through two months of nothing. He'd hoped that maybe, if he ever got free, she'd be there, but he'd never dared expect anything. After all, he hadn't even expected to escape. He'd been pretty certain from day one that he was a dead man.

"Yeah, she was hounding the police, threatening to get her PI's license and do their job for them." His dad smiled—a good, proper, genuine smile. "Then she started going around, questioning your coworkers and that homeless lady, Doris. And, uh, oddly enough, it was Doris who gave her a good lead. She apparently saw you disappear into thin air after talking to something 'real bright'. Emily, she started looking up... I dunno, folklore, I guess. She tried a couple of 'rituals' that were supposed to locate you."

"She did what? Seriously?"

Larry shrugged. "Well, apparently you told her all about our little cursed land incident and she thought that if a Native curse could be real, then old medieval spells could be too."

He grinned sheepishly. He _had _agreed never to speak of the bug thing to anyone, but Emily had been telling him about some ghost thing she'd run into and he'd... well, he'd told the whole stupid tale. Bonus: She'd believed it. All of it. She'd even taken his word that those Winchester guys who'd been on the news really weren't serial killers.

"I take it those spells didn't work."

"No. The maps kept burning into the shape of a symbol which apparently means that there's some kind of blockage..."

"The wards." Matt nodded. "Crowley wouldn't have let it be that easy." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's pretty badass though. You guys doing actual magic... Did Mom freak out?"

"A little. But when there weren't any bugs involved she calmed down."

They both fell quiet for a moment, a grin on Matt's face and nothing but relief on Larry's. He still didn't release his hold on Matt's hand.

"So, this, uh... this angel who jumped you... Did he make it?"

"Oh yeah." Matt tapped his temple. "He's still in here. He's sleeping at the moment."

"Good. I mean, I... I want a chance to thank him." His dad swallowed. "From what I hear from Dean, he didn't have to give half a crap about you. But he kept you from as much as he could, and I want... I need to tell him I appreciate it."

He still didn't know how to deal with his dad being all emotional, but, then again, who did?

"You up for coffee?" he asked. "I can't leave the wards, but I'm sure there's coffee in that pantry somewhere."

"Sure," Larry replied, though he stopped Matt's attempt to stand. "I'll get it. You relax."

* * *

6&6&6&6&6&6&6

For three days Larry Pike remained in the cabin, caring for his son during the young man's hours of consciousness. He spoke with Samandriel, and with the Winchesters once Sam returned. During one of Samandriel's waking periods he cleaned out the fridge and pantry, even going so far as to pop into Whitefish for supplies. Inias made sure he had an anti-possession mark; albeit, in hindsight, branding his sternum with it wasn't, perhaps, the best option. Samandriel scolded him afterward.

With each day Samandriel grew stronger, more of his wounds fading away. Some scarred, including the gouge in his shoulder, but most vanished. His bruises paled to a dull purple, the bags disappearing from under his eyes. His wings showed marked improvement, and by the third evening he was flight-worthy, though still weak.

Inias, for his part, had tried to keep shows of affection to a minimum in Larry's presence. After all, the vessel was his son. He didn't want to make the man uncomfortable. Samandriel, on the other hand, didn't seem to have such concerns. His hands and lips had made that clear enough.

It was that third evening when Larry finally approached Inias and lowered his voice.

"Look, I don't mean to pry, but I've got to ask... What exactly are you to each other?"

Inias considered the man. "Samandriel and I? I'm his mate."

"Oh." Larry shifted, "That's, uh... you... have you two...?" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely and evidently loathe to ask directly, but Inias got the gist.

"I assure you, Larry. We would not copulate without acquiring our vessel's consent."

"Ah. Good." The way he ran his hand through his hair reminded Inias of Matt. Like father, like son. "So the two of you haven't?"

"Not in these vessels."

Across the room, Matt cleared his throat. "Dad, it's okay. I've already given my permission."

Larry looked briefly scandalized. "You what?"

"Hey, it's not like it'd be the first time I..." Matt stopped abruptly, as if he'd suddenly realized what he'd been about to say. He bit his lip, his face flushing a rather dramatic shade of red.

Larry stared at him. "Wouldn't be the first time you what?"

"Look, we had this party at our dorm. Ty and I got sloshed and... things happened."

"Does Emily know?"

Matt's laugh was shrill with nerves and embarrassment. "Yeah. She was there. She sat on the couch and watched."

It was Larry's turn to go red. "Oh."

In the silence that followed, Inias tried not to laugh. He'd always found it amusing how humans could make something as simple as sex into something absurdly awkward and hard to talk about.

"Well," Larry sighed. "I guess you learn something new every day."

Matt snorted, still red as a beet. "I guess so."

* * *

6&6&6&6&6&6&6

Sam and Dean didn't return to the cabin until the wee hours of the morning, so Inias, Larry, and Matt had the run of the place. They flipped on the surprisingly new television set, pulled the camp bed into position, and popped some popcorn. There was crap on, but wasn't that always the way of things.

After an hour of _America's Funniest Home Videos_, Larry asked when Matt would be coming home. It was the question both Inias and Matt had been dreading.

Matt carefully explained that Samandriel couldn't go home; that those in charge of Heaven would have him killed. He explained that both Inias and Samandriel needed to go into hiding, and that, as his vessel, Matt needed to go with them. Larry nodded, resigned, as if he'd suspected as much. He rounded on Inias, wanting assurance that the angel could keep his son safe. Especially when Inias told him that they would be departing in the morning.

Overall, Larry took it well. Inias suspected that he was just glad to know his son was alive. The rest of the evening passed in a celebratory air. Matt talked to Emily and his mother on his dad's cell phone, and Larry told him about his place being held at his University until he could come back. The grin didn't leave Matt's face until he fell asleep, his head rested snugly against Inias' collarbone.

Once Larry's snores joined the sounds of the cabin, Inias flicked off the television and shut his eyes, following the humans into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Warnings: **__Torture, rape, violence, consensual sex_

**Torn and Saved**

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Inias and Samandriel prepared to depart. Matt said his farewells to his father, giving him messages to pass on to his mother and his girlfriend, and then he became Samandriel again. The two angels said goodbye to Sam and Dean, who handed them an old cellphone to 'keep in touch'.

The flight was shaky. Samandriel moved at half the speed he normally would have, heavily favouring his left prime wing. Inias kept most of his attention on the airspace around them, but more often than not he had to support his mate to keep him from falling out of the sky. The wound at his collarbone was clearly paining him. Thankfully they didn't have far to go.

They cruised low over the mountains, keeping below the flightpaths of major airlines and using the EMF of human telecommunications to mask their presence. Not once did his mate complain, but Inias could read it in Samandriel's every desperate wingbeat—the need to stop for rest. He was at breaking point, but Inias had planned ahead.

With a flick of his wingtips, Inias directed Samandriel down toward a deep valley between snow-capped peaks.

The roofs below them were those of a town called Jasper. Inias steered toward a nearby lake; its waters the milky green of fresh glacial meltwater. There, on the north shore, was a small log cabin. It had once belonged to his vessel's father, but had since been abandoned. The father had moved to Manchester and the vessel rarely had time to swan off to a cabin in the mountains.

Inias skimmed low over the lake and alighted on the dock that doubled as the cabin's back porch. Samandriel landed heavily beside him, trying to conceal a whimper. Inias wrapped a comforting wing around his mate's shoulders.

"Go inside. You can rest now. I'll put up the wards." Inias knew their souped-up hex bags—courtesy of the Winchesters—would only last so long. The sooner he put up angel warding, the better.

He started with the cabin itself; searing symbols and sigils into the center of the timber—deep inside each log, where no one could reach. He could still smell sizzling pine when he started on a second layer of defences. This time the sigils were gouged into rock, glassed into sand, and carved into trees. The circle enclosed the cabin, the dock, a stretch of the beach, and most of the open ground around them, including the gravel driveway. He also ground devil's traps into the bedrock beneath the doors and windows.

Once he was certain both circles of wards were impenetrable, Inias took wing, soaring around the circumference of the lake itself, adding another layer of wards. This circle enclosed the lake, a large section of forest, and approximately half of Jasper.

He returned to the cabin, listening to the hum of the wards as he went. Three layers would have seemed like paranoia to Hester or Rachel, but Inias knew that this way there was no possibility of wandering out of them, no matter how far they went. And this way, if one layer of warding was damaged, they had redoubts. What was it the humans said? Two is one, one is none?

Inside, the cabin looked many times cosier than the glorified shack the Winchesters had been living in. This cabin had been loved, and the thick layer of dust didn't detract. The door opened on a fully furnished kitchen and dining area, its dusty windows showing a grand view of the lake. Beyond the kitchen was a driftwood-banistered staircase and a comfortable living space with cushy furniture clustered around a large fireplace and heavy curtains framing bay windows with lake and forest views. Animal pelts acted as rugs and as blankets. There were antlers on the wall—Moose, Elk, White-Tailed Deer, Mountain Sheep.

Samandriel was milling around the dining table, swirling his grace over every surface and vaporizing the gathered dust. Most of the kitchen was already spotless.

Inias stepped closer, brushing his fingertips over Samandriel's hand.

"You don't have to do that." He curled his wings around his mate. "I'll get it. You're supposed to be resting."

"I know," Samandriel sighed. "I just didn't want to sit around."

His left wing drooped, the feathers brushing the floor. The marks on his forehead stood out more than they had the night before. He looked frail and drained.

Inias pulled him into an embrace, his arms looped gently but firmly around his waist, Samandriel's fingers winding into Inias' suit. They stood there in the chilly dining area, Samandriel's face buried in Inias' neck. Inias let his eyes slide shut, leaning his cheek against his mate's silky soft hair. They stood there for a long time, utterly silent. There were tears wetting the flesh of Inias' neck.

"I missed you..." Samandriel whispered.

Inias kissed Samandriel's temple. "Go relax. I'll get this place cleaned up."

6&6&6&6&6&6&6

* * *

The cabin looked much nicer once the dust was gone. Inias cleared the first floor with a single sweep of his grace. Upstairs he took more time, inspecting the large bathroom, the study full of musty academic volumes, the wide bedroom with the bed inset into the wall and draped with furs and duvets. The window on the opposite side of it looked out over the lake—directly above the dock.

Samandriel was sitting in one of the deep windows when Inias returned to the living room. His head was leaned back against the cedar frame, his eyes shut, his wings canted to catch the warm, golden sunlight. There was a serene smile on his face, but it was clear that he was awake.

Inias crossed the room, dropping his vessel's suit jacket on the couch. He perched on the edge of the window seat, reaching out to squeeze Samandriel's calf. "There's a couch out on the porch. Would you like to sit outside?"

Samandriel's eyes opened. "What about the wards?"

Inias smiled. "I have a seven kilometre diameter circle under warding. Plus a second circle around this immediate property and a third inside the walls."

Samandriel smiled back, vaguely amused, but his face flushed with gratitude. "Paranoid, are we?"

"I knew you'd want to get outdoors."

The younger angel sat up, swinging his legs off the sill. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Inias' lips, and took his hand. "I would love to sit outside."

Inias led him out onto the back porch to where a modern, gunmetal grey couch with pale pine armrests sat facing the rickety dock and the cool, lapping waters of the lake. A bowl of wrought-iron grating held a modest pile of charcoal and Inias snapped a fire to life inside.

Once seated, Samandriel curled against Inias, absentmindedly toying with the ivory buttons on his vessel's white shirt. His hand was surprisingly warm against Inias' chest. His eyes were closed again, content, leaning on Inias' shoulder. His wings folded behind him and Inias curled one of his own around his slender mate, his cream-flecked chocolate brown plumage in stark contrast to the creamy white of Samandriel's.

Grey jays brayed in the trees as they huddled together. The scent of blooming vegetation drifted on the breeze; bees zipping past on their way between flowers. Samandriel snuggled tighter against Inias, fingers slipping into his shirt to brush the skin and hair beneath.

"So what have you been doing all this time?"

Inias met his gaze. "While I was in hiding?" He shrugged. "Running from Leviathans, cowering in dusty shacks, keeping as far under the radar as I could."

"Really? That's it? You just sat in a cabin, staring at the wall for weeks at a time?"

"I didn't have anything to do..."

Samandriel smiled. "You have to find things to do."

"Like what?"

He let out a soft chuckle, slipping his fingers further into Inias' shirt. "Read a book, play music, garden, swim..." he nuzzled into Inias' throat. "Mate."

"I don't think you're quite up to that yet," Inias hummed, stroking his wing against the plumage of Samandriel's.

"I think you'd be surprised," the younger angel replied, running a hand up Inias' thigh.

"At least one more day of rest," Inias insisted, ignoring the blood rushing to his groin. "Recoup after the flight."

Samandriel sighed. "All right. One more day." He closed his eyes, smiling and huddling close. "So what are we going to do?"

Inias glanced around. "We have a boat."

"That we do."

6&6&6&6&6&6&6

* * *

The boat wasn't the prettiest thing they'd ever laid eyes on. It looked like it hadn't seen a lick of paint in decades. But it didn't leak or capsize, even under the additional weight of four heavy wings.

They didn't go far. Samandriel still seemed shy of straying too far from the cabin, so Inias stuck to their bend of the lake. A couple of animals emerged from the trees as they passed close to shore; a cougar that cocked its head to study their wings before sauntering back into the woods, and a bull moose that stared at them, chomping river weeds, as they floated past.

Back at the cabin, Samandriel set about making hot chocolates and Inias rifled through closets, cupboards, drawers, and boxes looking for items that would provide them with some way of passing the time. He found a few old boardgames—Risk, chess, Monopoly, Pictionary, Scrabble—a guitar in desperate need of tuning, a box of gardening tools which included an unused hummingbird feeder, and some sort of electronic game system with 'Atari' printed on the side. Bookshelves in every room held enough books to keep them occupied for a while, and a fair collection of VHS tapes lay hidden in a cupboard near the television. The one thing the cabin lacked, it seemed, was a computer of any kind.

As evening fell they retreated to the bedroom, curling beneath the layers of furs and blankets. Samandriel buried his face in Inias' shoulder and Inias couldn't have described how wonderful it felt to wrap his arms around him. It had been well over a year since he'd shared a bed with his mate and they'd abstained for Larry's sake back in Montana. It felt like coming home.

He fell asleep with his nose rested against the crown of Samandriel's head; the younger's hands flat-palmed on Inias' chest. With their bodies pressed so close together, Inias could almost pretend he was back in their roost in Heaven, with the stars flickering over their heads. Everything was right with the world once more.

6&6&6&6&6&6&6

* * *

The pain of countless cuts burned on his vessel's every nerve. He felt as if he'd been dipped in acid. Ever since Crowley had brought out the angel blade, Samandriel's world had been nothing but blood and pain. It had been a solid three weeks of torment and he'd given up nothing more than his name and his vocation. In that sense, he was proud of himself. Of course, the fact that he'd been captured in the first place wasn't anything to brag about.

"We've been over this, Mandi. All I want is a few names. I already have one; what harm could there be in giving me the rest?"

Samandriel wanted to spit in the demon's smug face. "I am a servant of Heaven. If you think I'll give you anything...!"

Crowley leered, disturbingly like the Cheshire Cat. "Oh, I think you will."

"Then you're a fool. Let me go now and I'll consider sparing your life." The bravado sounded great, but Samandriel suspected that his fear and exhaustion showed in his eyes. Even if he'd been let free of his chair he couldn't have stood. Not without help.

"Ooh," Crowley sneered, gesturing to the four burly demons by the hatch, who stepped in and shut the door. "I'm shaking in my boots."

"You should be. When Heaven finds me—"

"Blah, blah, blah." Crowley circled the chair. "Last chance," he warned, disappearing from Samandriel's peripheral vision.

"Go ahead. Kill me," Samandriel challenged.

Crowley's breath was warm against his neck as he leaned in close. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you. That would be too easy." He snapped his fingers and turned to the other demons. "Put him over the table."

The demons obeyed without hesitation; unstrapping Samandriel's wrists and ankles and freeing him from the chair only to drag him over to the sturdy oak table nearby. There were years worth of bloodstains on the unvarnished wood and Samandriel wondered how many had died on its surface.

He was shoved face-down on the cold table, the edge digging painfully into his hips as two of the big demons yanked his arms up and pinned his wrists. Wounds reopened, soaking fresh blood into his clothes.

"There are many kinds of torture, little angel," Crowley snarled, reaching around to unbuckle Samandriel's belt.

Cold panic settled in the pit of his stomach and he struggled feebly against the restraining hands. "Crowley, please! You don't understand! Angels... we mate for life... I..." He tried to swallow his fear. "I have a mate... I can't... betray him."

A derisive snort was all he got from the demon as he felt his belt come loose. The catch on his fly was next and as his vessel's red trousers dropped, Samandriel yelped. "Please, stop! Crowley!"

There was a clatter of metal—the buckle of Crowley's own belt being undone—and the hiss of a zipper.

"Crowley, stop!"

Something pressed against him and his voice rose several octaves as he wailed. "I'll tell you what you want to know!"

Crowley froze and Samandriel could almost _feel _him smirking. He leaned in close, his lips at the angel's ear. "What was that?"

"I'll tell you the names," Samandriel sobbed. "If you promise not to do this."

Crowley considered. "I refrain from violating you and you rat on the God-squad." He shrugged. "Sounds fair. Fire away."

"If I tell you—"

"Yes, yes. Your virtue remains intact."

Samandriel shuddered, sick with guilt at the betrayal he was about to commit.

A tall, mocha-skinned demon produced a pad of paper and a pen. Crowley prodded him and Samandriel gulped and cleared his throat.

"Luigi Ponzi, Justin Hurst, Dennis Adams, Krista Field, Aaron Webber, Maria Tate, Sven Engstrom."

The room was silent for a moment, aside from the sound of the demon's ballpoint. Once he finished, Crowley studied the angel.

"Is that all of them?"

"All the current possible prophets, yes. Aside from Kevin Tran."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Truth?"

"Truth." Samandriel wanted to cry.

The demon grinned. "See. How hard was that? Could've saved yourself a lot of trouble if you'd just spilled the beans earlier." He straightened his spine and Samandriel breathed a brief sigh of relief. "Jacob, if you could be so kind as to go retrieve our prophets."

The tall demon with the paper nodded and exited the room without a word; two more towering, thick-set henchmen shouldering in to replace him.

"We had a deal, Crowley..."

"Yes. Of course. How could I forget?"

Samandriel could feel Crowley's eyes raking up and down his exposed skin. He wished he had the strength to struggle free of the hands crushing his wrists. He wished he could have hid himself with his wings.

"We did have a deal," Crowley drawled. "We did. But, you see, here's the thing..." He leaned in close again; ear-to-ear grin firmly in place. "We didn't kiss on it."

The horror returned full force, the bottom dropping out of Samandriel's stomach as Crowley shoved a knee between his thighs and forced his legs apart. He fought with all the strength he could muster, but Crowley simply planted his hand between his shoulder blades and forced him back down.

"You promised!" Samandriel cried, adrenaline crawling underneath his skin. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, his heart hammering against the inside of his ribs. He could feel his vessel's blood rushing in his ears. Panic tightened his throat.

"I lied."

Crowley thrust and Samandriel screamed. Pain lanced up his spine; the burning, searing pain of tearing flesh. Crowley sheathed himself to the hilt in one go. Big... too big.

The force of the thrust knocked the air from his lungs and slammed his hip into the creaking table. He felt close to retching. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he clawed at the tabletop, desperately searching out purchase. His wings trembled as Crowley withdrew and slammed home again, drawing another scream. Warm rivulets of blood trickled down his thighs.

Crowley groaned in contentment. "I do so love the tight ones," he chuckled, grinding his hips. The movement drove him impossibly deeper and Samandriel whimpered. The ache was sickening.

Amid the leers of the other demons, Crowley set a punishing pace. On each outward stroke he withdrew almost completely before driving in again; each inward stroke slamming so deep it felt as if he were bruising some delicate internal membrane. Samandriel screamed and screamed until nothing but sobs would come out. He retched, but there was nothing in his vessel's stomach to bring up. His only relief was his own blood lubricating Crowley's shaft.

In and out, in and out... Crowley's breathing grew harsh. It seemed to go on forever. Samandriel couldn't get away; his mind couldn't flee. He tried in vain to focus his mind on something else—on the patterns in the woodgrain of the table, the movement of the air molecules—but his mind always snapped back to the bruising fingers on his wrists; the slapping of Crowley's flesh against his own; the grunts and groans of the demon; the growing bulges in the trousers of the guards; the wet, aching slide of Crowley inside him.

Finally, with a few more stuttering thrusts and a satisfied growl, Crowley finished. His fingernails dug into Samandriel's hip as an acid burn spread through his insides. Salt in the wound.

Crowley withdrew with a laugh, a thick, dribbling mixture of semen and blood oozing out after him. Samandriel sobbed into the table, burning with shame. Crowley was silent and dispassionate as he tucked himself away and did up his fly and belt. A smug smile split his face.

Samandriel shivered, every movement sending fresh jabs of pain through his body. Fluid dripped down his legs. The room was silent save for his crying.

Crowley surveyed the carnage with an amused grin, stroking Samandriel's back and laughing at the full-body shudder the touch elicited. He turned to the demons still restraining the angel.

"Have at him, boys."

He slipped from the room, shutting the hatch behind him, and the three demons at the opposite end of the table swooped in like vultures; hyena smiles plastered on their faces. The two who'd held his wrists went first.

The taller one was quick at least. Three minutes of vigorous thrusts and he was finished, groaning obscenely. The second took more time, rolling his hips in a languorous pace and leaving a dark purple welt of a bite on Samandriel's shoulder. By the time he was done the other demons had released Samandriel's wrists, all strength having long ago left his frame, and were stroking themselves through their open flies.

For hours they toyed with him. One would finish and another would thrust in. After a half-hour they started taking him in twos; one behind, the other thrusting down his throat. Samandriel's tears had stopped by then. No matter how hard he cried, he had no tears left.

When the thick one took him again for the umpteenth time, he reached around, stroking his vessel's flaccid member and fondling his testicles. His touch was deceptively gentle... Sickeningly gentle. He canted his thrusts, brushing something inside Samandriel that sent an involuntary shiver of pleasure through him.

The other demons jeered and mocked him as he grew rigid in his tormentor's hand. Laughter rang in his ears as the demon began stroking in earnest, thrusting in time. If anything, the pleasure was worse. He felt like a whore, and when his hips jerked backward to meet a thrust—which hit that spot again—the demon told him just that. His face burned and he buried it as best he could against the tabletop. When he came, shuddering beneath the demon, his cry was more a despairing wail than anything else. Fresh shouts of 'slut' and 'whore' resounded as he spilled into the demon's hand.

They let him fall to the floor after that. He curled in on himself, feebly grasping at his vessel's pants as the five demons cleaned themselves up. They left him lying on the concrete floor, the open hatch a cruel mockery. They knew he couldn't escape.

Twice he retched, emptying his stomach of the evidence of his violation. Bruises blossomed on his wrists and hip as he lay there, unable to move. He could feel fluid oozing out of him, and his stomach turned.

It was a long time before anyone came into the room. Eventually a demon swept in, refastened his pants, hauled him to his feet and threw him back into the chair. Fresh pain blazed through him as he hit the wooden seat and he howled. Liquid fire flooded his veins and his breath caught. When she left, the leather restraints were all that held him aloft.

There was still drool running down his chin, his jaw still strained and sore, when Crowley returned. He could still taste the other demons; could still feel the ghosts of thrusts. The pain of the angel blade in his flesh was almost a relief. Crowley seemed to relish his screams more than he had before. One look at the demon's face and Samandriel wanted to curl up and die. He watched the chrome blade in desperate envy, willing Crowley to plunge it into his chest. But he knew he wouldn't. He'd enjoyed him too much. This was far from over.

_Please... Please kill me._

6&6&6&6&6&6&6

* * *

Inias woke in the wee hours, Samandriel twitching and whimpering next to him. He had been about to roll over and go back to sleep, but something in Samandriel's mumblings caught Inias' attention. He propped himself up on an elbow, watching his mate in the throes of his nightmare. A cold sliver of dread settled into his gut.

In his sleep, Samandriel begged some unseen tormentor. "No... please, no... please stop." Interspersed were whimpers of pain and cries of anguish that clawed at Inias' heart. But there was something in the tone of his voice when he pleaded... something that terrified Inias.

"No... no... please, don't... please!"

Samandriel woke with a start, screaming and thrashing, his unsteady wings clawing at the air. Inias dodged the flailing limbs and gathered his mate against himself, soothing him with gentle touches and soft murmurs as he had so many times since rescuing him.

"GEH COD, HOATH," he whispered as Samandriel latched onto him, drawing a shaking breath. "GEH COD." He ran a hand through his mate's sweat-damp hair. "It was just a dream."

Samandriel shivered, letting out a choking sob. "I wish that were true."

Inias swallowed. "Memories?"

His mate nodded, huddling as close as he possibly could, and wept into Inias' shoulder, shaking violently.

"Tell me." Inias kissed Samandriel's cheek. "Get it off your chest."

"It's nothing," Samandriel stuttered, fingers gripping Inias.

Inias' thoughts turned to what Samandriel had said in his sleep; the pleading, the begging, the crying... He'd heard enough to guess at the truth. His heart ached as he tipped Samandriel's face so that they were nose-to-nose. Tears dripped down the younger's cheeks.

"Tell me."

A broken sort of sound came out of Samandriel, his voice brittle. "Please, Inias. Please don't be angry with me."

It took every ounce of self-control Inias had to not join his mate in tears. He knew. He knew without asking, and the words curdled on his tongue.

"Did he force himself on you?"

There was a long silence, Samandriel's chin quivering in Inias' grip. "Yes..." he whispered, sucking in a shuddering breath. "Many times." A few wracking sobs overtook him before he continued. "He wasn't the only one... I said no... I said... I told him I had a mate... he just... he didn't stop... I... I don't understand... I'm so sorry, Inias. Please... _please_ forgive me."

Inias forced down his turbulent emotions as best he could, cradling Samandriel as he wept. He wanted to cry, but equally wanted to find Crowley and tear him into tiny little pieces. Nevertheless, he knew what he needed to do in that moment, and it wasn't break down in tears or hunt down Crowley.

He rocked Samandriel back and forth, and folded his wings around them both like a tent.

"What Crowley... and those others... did to you is called rape," he explained, trying to keep the disgust from his voice. "It's something humans do to hurt, shame, and belittle others. Watch humanity long enough and you see it." He kissed the soft spot at the corner of Samandriel's mouth. "But the victim is never to blame. You said no. He didn't listen. He knew you wouldn't understand. He was trying to break you and he knew that his best shot would be to take an innocent, intimate act and warp it into something brutal. He knows we are a monogamous species and he chose to use that against you. He wanted to make you feel vulnerable and guilty."

"He said you'd reject me... if you knew."

"Nothing he could ever do would make me reject you." Inias nuzzled into Samandriel's hair. "What kind of mate would I be if I blamed you for the actions of a demon?"

A shy smile lit Samandriel's face. Tension shed from his frame and he relaxed in Inias' arms.

"You are innocent, Samandriel. You are innocent and I still love you. I will _always_ love you."

They remained still, huddled together, for a long, quiet moment. Samandriel's wings shimmered slightly in the moonlight, his eyes sparkling. Inias sighed, content just to watch him. His mate was beautiful; truly beautiful. He was like crystal and fresh snow and the light of dawn: Pure and radiant and perfect. It was as if a star had dropped out of the sky and become an angel. And he was Inias'. It felt like some kind of divine privilege that so beautiful a creature had chosen him over all the others.

"I need to forget," Samandriel whispered, a steel resolve just below the surface. "I need to forget the feeling of... the feeling of him inside of me. I need to forget it all. I need to be yours again. I need..." He paused and pressed his entire body against Inias', his breath warm against the shell of Inias' ear. "A VNIG NONCI ZAH OL."

Inias purred, the words in his native tongue sending a flood of warmth to his gut. He could feel his pulse in his vessel's groin.

"Are you sure you're ready, HOATH?" Inias asked as Samandriel's hands ran down his chest and side. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me." Samandriel nipped at Inias' neck and ground his hips against him, already tumescent. Inias smiled, gripping Samandriel's waist.

"So eager..." He started to roll Samandriel onto his back, sliding on top of him, but felt his mate go still and stiff. A soft whimper left him.

"No, wait."

Inias froze, backing off so he could meet the other angel's eyes. Guilt gnawed at him the second he saw fear there. Samandriel's breath came rapidly, his heart racing. He'd gone flaccid and Inias could smell the adrenaline.

Samandriel gulped. "Please, don't hold me down... I can't..." He shivered. "I need to see you."

Inias kissed Samandriel's temple and rolled away, settling comfortably into the sheets. His mate whimpered again as they parted, his hand darting out to catch him.

"You don't have to stop... I just—"

Inias pressed a primary feather to Samandriel's lips. "Come here," he beckoned, settling, seated, his knees bent and feet planted, leaned back slightly on his hands.

Samandriel's apprehension melted, a fresh smile blooming as he reached over to stroke Inias' stomach. Tentative, snow-white wings spread and he leaned down, his parted lips meeting Inias'. Without breaking the kiss, Samandriel mounted him, settling onto his lap.

Watching his smooth, lithe body move, Inias felt himself begin to swell and stiffen. Samandriel's naked thighs were warm against Inias' hips and Inias let his hands roam from his mate's narrow waist to his firm buttocks. He kneaded the flesh and Samandriel groaned. His erection was returning and Inias coaxed it the rest of the way; well-timed strokes and squeezes leaving Samandriel gasping and hard.

Inias swept his hands up Samandriel's sides, avoiding the blotchy purple bruises, and buried his fingers in the soft down at the base of his wings. He found the glands there easily enough, and a light brush had his mate's wings fluttering. A whispery sound of delight passed between them as Samandriel shivered.

"Your pace," Inias said, pressing the oil glands. Samandriel mewled, grinding their hips together. Inias' erection slid against Samandriel's, both of them grunting in pleasure, pressed together chest-to-chest. Feather oil oozed out over Inias' fingers and he coated them liberally. Samandriel squirmed and groaned atop him, his wings jerking and shaking with each press and brush of Inias' fingertips on the sensitive glands.

Once they were rocking together in a somewhat steady rhythm, Inias ran his hands down over his mate's smooth back and downward, spreading oil over Samandriel's entrance. It earned him a full-body shudder and a low moan. He reached between them, coating his shaft with his other hand. Samandriel watched him, forehead-to-forehead and panting.

At some unspoken signal, he raised himself up, meeting Inias in a sloppy kiss as Inias positioned himself.

"Your pace," he repeated, nipping at Samandriel's bottom lip.

Samandriel grinned, winding his fingers in Inias' shaggy hair and lowering himself down. His vessel's young body opened with surprising ease, taking him in as smoothly as Samandriel's own would have. They groaned as one, pleasure spiking up Inias' spine. It was a snug fit; the squeeze just on the right side of painful. He resisted the urge to thrust upward, deeper into the tight heat.

Halfway down, Samandriel stopped, rolling his hips with a whine, and bobbed up and down, loosening himself. Once the wet slide became easier, he lowered himself once more, bottoming out with a groan. He settled into Inias' lap, utterly filled, and for a moment the only sound in the room was their harsh breathing.

Inias found himself caressing Samandriel's back, kissing and nipping at his neck and jaw. His chest was ready to burst with joy. It had been so long since he'd been able to embrace his mate; so long since he'd been inside him; so long since he'd felt that intimacy... By Heaven, he loved him.

Samandriel rolled his hips again and started to move in earnest, moaning wantonly when the head of Inias' cock rubbed his prostate. Inias' breath caught. With each of his mate's movements he sunk balls-deep into Samandriel's warm, smooth, gripping flesh, only to have the heat and pressure retreat. The return drew a growling moan from his throat.

"A... A TOANT G... Samandriel."

They found a rhythm easily enough. They'd never had sex in vessels before, but tens of millions of years of experience eventually took over. Samandriel rode him, moaning and gasping, digging his nails into Inias' shoulders. Inias lavished kisses on Samandriel's long, smooth neck; his fingertips drawing lazy circles along the arch of his spine. Breathless, desperate noises left Samandriel's throat. Inias lost himself in the feel of his mate sheathing him; the pine and floral musk at the nape of his neck; the music of his cries; the glistening beads of sweat on his skin; the honey taste of his lips.

Inias ran his palms over Samandriel's trembling thighs, smiling at his soft, satisfied moan. He was pleased to see the nerves and tentativeness gone from the younger angel. It was a good sign.

"Inias... please... take over... I..." Samandriel trailed off, gasping. His thighs shook even harder; fatigue and impending orgasm draining his strength.

Inias replied with a kiss, claiming his lips as he took up Samandriel's pace, thrusting up into him. His mate's cries jumped a pitch and his hips bucked, grinding his dripping cock against Inias' abdomen. He whimpered into Inias' hair.

He was close. Inias' could feel it in the twitching of his muscles around him. The harsh rasps of breath that were little more than pants. The way his creamy wings furled and unfurled. The keening sounds he made as he writhed, looking for that last ounce of sensation, that final press that would send him over the edge.

Inias was the one to find it, angling his thrust just right to catch that oh-so-sensitive bump with the head of his cock. Samandriel yelped and then he was coming, body clenching in spasms around Inias. A broken moan left him and spurts of warm fluid painted Inias' chest. Samandriel's entire body shuddered and twitched, his wings shaking.

One last clench and Inias followed, groaning and burying himself as deep as he could; coming in a hot gush. He held Samandriel against himself, tremoring, spilling, his vision greying at the edges, wings thumping against the walls. Samandriel was gasping in his ear, riding out the last waves of his orgasm, the last few drops of semen dribbling down his twitching erection.

When Inias came back to himself, his face was buried in Samandriel's neck. He was softening and he slipped free of his mate's body, bundling his still-breathless lover and laying him down amidst the tangle of sheets. With a wave of his hand they were both clean.

Samandriel hummed contentedly as Inias curled against him and drew the sheets and furs over them. Inias looped his arm around Samandriel's waist and kissed the back of his neck. Samandriel snuggled back against him.

They lay there together, panting, for a long, peaceful moment. In the moonlight, Inias could see that Samandriel was smiling.

"IN," Inias whispered, weaving his fingers between Samandriel's.

"DE," Samandriel replied, fluttering his wings between them. "PAID." Then, squeezing Inias' hand, he murmured: "A TOANT G, Inias."

"A TOANT G, Samandriel," Inias replied as they both drifted back into sleep.

* * *

Enochian

**GEH COD **_(geh-heh koh-deh)_: You're safe

**HOATH **_(hoh-ah-teh)_: Love [as a term of endearment]

**A VNIG NONCI ZAH OL **_(ah veh-nee-geh noh-en-kee zod-ah oh-leh)_: I need you inside me

**A TOANT G **_(ah toh-an-teh geh)_: I love you

**IN **_(ee-en)_: Mine

**DE **_(deh)_: Yours

**PAID **_(pah-ee-deh)_: Always, forever


	5. Chapter 5

_**Warnings: **__Mentions of rape, more consensual sex_

**Torn and Saved**

Samandriel woke to reflected sunlight sparkling off the lake; dazzling his eyes as he blinked them open. He stretched, rolled, and found himself alone in the bed. The sheets were cool to the touch.

_Inias must have let me sleep._

He sat up and winced. Then, with a smile, he wiggled, enjoying the mild ache in his vessel's hindquarters. Pleasantly sore, he rolled out of the bed, shook clean his vessel, and retrieved his cleaned and folded clothes. The burn flared as he dressed himself and he bit his lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. Each throb was like a phantom thrust; a little reminder.

He sighed. The previous night had been more than he could ever have wished for; _all _that he had wished for during that long, long year alone. He had his mate back; had spent the night in his arms, had been wrapped in his wings, had been reclaimed. He felt clean now; as if the spilling of his mate's seed inside him had removed some imagined stain, some contamination, left when the demons had defiled him. Maybe the nightmares would stop now. Now that he felt absolved. Now that he no longer felt like some nameless demon's whore. Now that Inias knew and hadn't rejected him.

The soft trill of guitar strings drifted up the stairwell as Samandriel made his way down. He paused at the bottom, listening as Inias' honey-smooth voice took up the notes. It was a simple tune; a hymn that they had learned in childhood. Inias rasped over the last few words and, upon a sour note from the guitar, stopped, tightened the string, and went over it again. A perfect D major.

"I love it when you sing," Samandriel said, rounding the corner into the living space. Inias was seated by the hearth, the guitar looking polished and new in his lap. He smiled as Samandriel approached.

"Feeling better?" He put down the guitar and met Samandriel halfway into the room, taking his hands and pulling them close.

"I am." Samandriel returned Inias' chaste kiss. "I can still feel last night."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Samandriel looped his arms around Inias' shoulders, watching his tentative eyes. "Of course not."

Inias' hands settled on Samandriel's waist, fingertips caressing him through his forest green plaid. The touch sent tingles down his tailbone and he let his eyes drift shut, sighing and leaning into the embrace. He fanned his wings, lowered to the floor and quivering. He flicked the primaries a couple of times: an unmistakable invitation.

"Again?" Inias purred. "Already?"

"Why not?"

The next kiss was far from chaste and Samandriel felt heat flood his pelvis and inner thighs as Inias slipped his tongue between Samandriel's lips. Samandriel pulled Inias closer, running his fingers through his hair. An electric buzz boiled down his spine and he felt his vessel's body respond in its own way: a tingling, a flood of warmth, a hardness. It was strange, if he was honest. His grace was trying to react to Inias' touch as it would have had it not been tucked away inside a human. His body was warming, unspooling, opening in readiness, but his vessel didn't have the right parts. Instead, Matt's body simply grew rigid.

Inias backed him toward the couch with a gentle push, kissing him the whole way. Hands worked at the catch of Samandriel's jeans and the buttons of his flannel shirt. He was beyond careful as he lowered Samandriel to the couch.

Samandriel was pleasantly surprised to find that not a sliver of nerves intruded as his mate eased him onto his back. Not once did he feel a spike of adrenaline, nor an urge to escape.

"I suppose there's no harm in a quick one before breakfast." Inias moved down Samandriel's body, kissing down his neck, along his collarbone, down his chest and abdomen. He continued down and as he neared the top of his jeans, the heat in Samandriel's gut became almost unbearable. It was sweet relief when Inias tugged the snug garment—and that underneath—from his hips, relieving the pressure and freeing his erection.

Inias kissed along his hipbone, nipping at the soft, tender skin there, and moving down. He left wet, sucking bites on his inner thighs, his hands massaging his hips and stomach.

Samandriel shivered and moaned beneath his mate's ministrations, snagging handfuls of the couch. He let his mouth fall open, panting, sagging back into the cushions. Inias moved up, his grey eyes flicking up to meet Samandriel's. He bit his lip, anticipation thrumming on every nerve. He held Inias' gaze and his mate smiled.

Without a word, and without breaking eye contact, Inias wrapped his lips around Samandriel's cock and swallowed him down.

Samandriel threw his head back into the couch, a yelp passing his lips, his hips jerking forward. Inias' mouth was hot and wet and tight; squeezing and caressing him, his tongue firm and undulating against all the most sensitive parts of his vessel's organ. Just the tiniest hint of teeth brushed against his shaft.

He tried to speak but his voice dissolved into unintelligible whimpers. Inias drew back, sucking on the head, and sunk back down, opening his throat to take him in completely.

Samandriel shuddered and groaned, clawing at the couch. His wings thumped down against the floor and furniture. It all felt so good. It was a fight not to thrust himself down Inias' throat. It was so unlike anything they'd ever done in their natural forms. So unlike any way of lovemaking that angels had. So new...

"Inias...!" Samandriel choked as his mate continued alternating between head bobs—with which he set a toe-curling pace—and hollow-cheeked sucks. He was barely aware of the high, keening sounds he was making, but Inias seemed pleased.

It didn't take much more of the bobbing and sucking and licking for Samandriel to finish. The hot, throbbing spring that had been tightening in his gut released, and he wailed as pleasure coursed through him. Muscles pulsed and seized and spasmed and then Inias was swallowing around him.

The world was a haze for a moment. Samandriel remained sprawled on his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, his jeans and briefs around his knees. He was vaguely aware of Inias cleaning him and buttoning up his clothing; all the while lavishing kisses on whatever exposed flesh he could reach.

He smiled when Inias kissed his cheek, and then his mouth. The taste on Inias' tongue was strange—bitter and salty—but it sent a shiver of delight through him. It was strangely pleasing to taste himself in Inias' mouth.

He could feel the hard ridge of Inias' arousal through the thin material of his slacks. He stroked it, smirking at his mate's sharp intake of breath. He unbuckled Inias' belt and slipped his hand down the front of his trousers. He leaned up and kissed him again; taking him in his hand and starting a slow, languorous rhythm. Inias made a strangled sort of moan, back arching and wings flaring, his hips moving in synch with Samandriel's strokes.

Their lips remained together, kissing, biting, and sucking, as Inias jerked and twitched and groaned and came, spilling in Samandriel's squeezing hand. He made a lovely sight, panting and sweaty and undone, his fringe of dark hair falling across his face. Samandriel licked his fingers clean, noting with satisfaction the way Inias watched every move; every dart of his tongue, every curl of his fingers.

And he was sure it was because this was Inias—his mate, his love, his sword and shield and shelter—but the taste wasn't as bad as it had been with the demons. The bitter salt was actually sort of pleasant.

"So. You mentioned breakfast?"

There was a long moment of lag before Inias realized he'd been asked a question. When he met Samandriel's gaze, his eyes were glazed.

"Yes. Yes, of course." Inias stood, doing up his slacks and belt. "I thought if we maintain a human schedule it would be easier to blend in."

Samandriel followed Inias, an intrigued smile on his face. "Human schedule?"

"Regular meals. Regular sleep." Inias turned on the gas on the stove, where he'd already arranged two frying pans; one with a small wedge of butter. He rummaged through the fridge and emerged with two eggs, a packet of bacon rashers, and a bag of diced potatoes that said 'frozen hash browns'.

"Where did you get all this?" Samandriel asked as Inias spread bacon out in one frying pan and the melting butter in the other.

"I went into town while you were asleep." The eggs hissed on contact with the pan. Inias gave Samandriel a soft smile. "I'll have to take you into town at some point. You'll love it here." He poured a generous pile of hash browns into the pan with the eggs. "Toast?"

"Yes, please." Samandriel inhaled, savouring the aromas of the kitchen. They didn't _need_ to eat, but if this was how they were going to blend in, then who was he to complain? Humans did have some pretty good food, after all.

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* * *

Breakfast was lovely. For a creature that didn't need to eat, Inias sure knew how to cook. The bacon and hash browns were perfectly crisp and the egg yolks runny. Samandriel had never had buttered toast dipped in egg before, and he came to conclusion that he'd clearly been missing out.

They shared a pot of tea; Samandriel with milk and sugar and Inias without. They talked about the state of Heaven. Samandriel brought Inias up to speed on events—Naomi and Crowley and the tablets. They both remembered the resets now. Samandriel had only ever had the one; back when Naomi and the Archangels had taken over. His memories surrounding the reset were still shaky.

Inias on the other hand, had been reset several times. Not nearly as often as Castiel, but enough. There'd been the night they slaughtered the armies of Sennacherib: Inias had refused to participate and had been hauled into head office. He'd stood with Castiel on a few occasions, alone on others. Once he'd had Rachel and Hester with him in his defiance. What hit the hardest was the memory of the people he'd been in the process of breaking out of Bergen-Belsen when Naomi's vultures had swooped in and hauled him home. He didn't know what became of them. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

But no matter how many times he'd stood up and rebelled they'd always reset him to a placid little lieutenant who did what he was told. The soldier who killed and maimed without question and then went quietly home to his mate.

It was infuriating to think they'd been played with for so long. Their Father's last command had been to love the humans more than they loved Him. Love them, protect them, guide them. Then Naomi had come along and they'd become blunt instruments. Tools with which to punish, murder, and destroy.

But they did their best to put it out of their minds. There was nothing they could do while in hiding. And neither was a match for Naomi.

When they'd downed the last of the tea they made their way outside and Samandriel went to work on the long-neglected flowerbeds. Bees and butterflies swarmed around him as he extended his grace; plants springing to life at the touch of it. The dry, patchy grass turned green and soft and full wherever Samandriel stepped. A retinue of birds gathered—chattering—in the trees and bushes around him: bright yellow Grosbeaks, shimmery Blackbirds and Cowbirds, hopping Juncos, red-headed Tanagers, a pair of shy little Waterthrushes, several species of yellow Warblers, a few Waxwings, pushy Starlings, whistling Robins, Nuthatches, Chickadees, Crows, Ravens, Magpies, Nutcrackers, Flycatchers. It was as if the woods had come alive. Samandriel talked to them, of course. Birds were usually good conversation.

Inias watched from the porch, smiling as he set up the hummingbird feeder. His mate flitted from plant to plant, touches and brushes bringing withered, desiccated stems into bloom. The remnants of the garden turned green and pink, white and red, blue and purple. Inias found that he couldn't take his eyes from Samandriel; his slim vessel, his caramel hair, his creamy feathers—shining in a way they hadn't since his capture. Seeing him happy, drifting around the garden doing what he loved most, smiling without a hint of the shadows that had been hanging on him, was a gift. Inias would have given all the riches of the world to see him that happy every day. Leaning on the porch railing, he was reminded of all the reasons he'd fallen in love with Samandriel in the first place.

Inias was all but ignored by Samandriel's entourage. He was a soldier and thus the animals had no interest. It didn't bother him. He was content not to intrude.

Samandriel's grace swirled over the flowerbeds like an artist's brush filling a blank canvas. Chrysanthemums, Peonies, and Hydrangeas sprang up from dried remains; joining Hyacinths, Lilies, Pansies, Lupins, Lilacs, and Lavender. In the shade by the porch there were Hostas and Jacob's Ladder. Japanese Acer flanked the steps. Bleeding Hearts surged up along the north face of the cabin.

Closer to the treeline, Samandriel raised prodigious thickets of Strawberries and Blackberries, and a towering Rose bush. A flick of his wrist had Teasel, Woodruff, and Juniper coming up under their kitchen window. He even teased up a herb patch with Mint, Chives, Welsh Onion, and Vervain. Between the herbs and hedges sprouted a tree which Inias' was certain was some variety of Apple.

Even the wild plants reacted to his presence. The pines and spruces appeared to perk up, along with the ferns and wildflowers. The rushes and cattails at the water's edge seemed just a touch taller and healthier. Inias could hear frogs... and what may have been an extinct species of pigeon. He'd have to discuss that with him later. But in that moment Samandriel looked up at him with a wide, open, happy face and nothing else mattered. Heather was popping up around Samandriel's feet and Inias was in Heaven.

No words were exchanged as he stepped down off the deck and joined Samandriel in the grass. He looped his arms around his waist and rested his face in the soft curve of his shoulder, cupping his wings with his own. To think that Castiel's blade had been only two millimetres from ending Samandriel's life. That had Inias not heard his call, not joined the Winchesters, or had taken even a second longer to kill the demons, then he wouldn't be standing in a garden in the mountains, holding his mate, but would instead be grieving him. That that one second could have meant and eternity alone.

It terrified him.

"Are you okay?" Samandriel's voice was soft with concern. He squeezed Inias' hands. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Inias pressed a kiss to Samandriel's neck. "Let's go for a walk."

6&6&6&6&6&6&6

* * *

There wasn't a path through the woods surrounding the cabin, but they didn't need one. They followed the natural breaks in the underbrush, the ebb and flow of root systems, trails eaten through bushes by deer and bears. It was cool and dim and moist beneath the canopy; each breath crisp and refreshing.

Samandriel had finally convinced Inias to put on something other than his vessel's suit and tie. He'd settled on a black and steel-blue plaid buttonup and jeans that they found in one of the upstairs closets. Samandriel rather liked the way Inias looked in the snug denim.

For a while they simply chatted. They'd been apart for over a year, so there was no lack of stories to tell. They traded tales of how they met the Winchesters. Samandriel spoke of events in Heaven, new additions to the Garden, and of the new fledgling born to two of his former roostmates. Inias' stories were of Leviathans and running battles; last minute escapes and long, lonely stretches hiding in hovels.

When the stories were over they talked about other things. Anything that came to mind. But despite his smiles, it was obvious that whatever had been weighing on Inias back at the cabin was still haunting him. Even in a vessel, Samandriel knew his mate's idiosyncrasies.

"Something's bothering you," Samandriel said, his tone making it clear that it wasn't a question.

Inias looked sheepish for a moment, then hung his head. He took Samandriel's hand, squeezing it as they continued through the trees.

"Watching you in the garden... It hit me how close I came to losing you."

Samandriel let himself be led up a slope of thick, knobbly tree roots, all the while watching Inias' face for some clue of what was _really _on his mind. "You got there in time to save me."

"In time would have been a lot sooner."

Samandriel stopped, their joined hands halting Inias in his tracks. "This is about what Crowley did, isn't it?" He watched Inias' eyes fill with what could have been regret or guilt or sadness, but looked an awful lot like shame.

He pulled Samandriel close, running his free hand up and down his arm and shoulder. Face to face, Samandriel decided that it was definitely shame in his mate's eyes, but the other emotions were there in the set of his wings, the droop of his back, and the way his hand squeezed his.

"I will never forgive myself for not being there. You should never have gone through that." Inias cupped Samandriel's face in both hands. "I just... I need to know you're okay."

Samandriel smiled and took Inias' hands, pulling them down, clasped between them. He leaned up, kissing Inias. When they parted, Inias somewhat reluctantly, Samandriel met his eyes.

"Of course I'm not okay. I was raped... repeatedly, by more demons than I want to count." He couldn't help the little flinch as he said it, but he carried on. If he didn't talk about it, he'd never move on. Inias flinched too, and Samandriel leaned against him, nuzzling into his neck. "But I will be. I'm with you, now. And we have a VIRG; we have each other; a beautiful garden..."

He felt Inias smile at his slip into Enochian, and felt his wings wrap around them.

"I'm not okay. Not yet. But I'm happy."

Inias relaxed against him, sighing and hugging him close. The smell of his plumage filled Samandriel's world; wood smoke and steel and cold air. Warmth blossomed in his chest and he fluttered his wings, pulling Inias forward until he was nearly stumbling. Inias pulled back, a cheeky twinkle flaring to life in his eyes.

They tugged back and forth a couple of times before Samandriel smirked and abruptly let go mid-tug. Inias fell, sprawling on the soft earth. For a brief moment he looked puzzled, but quick as a flash he reached out, nearly snagging Samandriel's jeans.

Samandriel just laughed and took off through the trees. He heard Inias scramble to his feet behind him. He heard the pursuit. He was still laughing when, several meters later, Inias caught up, grabbed him, and sent them both tumbling.

He wound up on his back with Inias over him, wings flared triumphantly. There was a second where nervous regret flashed through Inias' grey eyes, but it faded quickly when he realized that Samandriel was still smiling.

"I love you." Inias' eyes didn't leave Samandriel's as he spoke, seemingly unaware that he'd said it in English.

"I love you, too."

Everything seemed so very still and so very quiet, and Samandriel knew it was most likely because there was a predator in the area but he tried not to let that ruin the moment. Not with the sun peeking through the canopy in just the right place to give Inias a full-body halo and trim his feathers in gold.

Nothing; nothing would ruin that moment.

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* * *

There was no rush to return to the cabin. They spent the afternoon wandering the forest, Samandriel instructing Inias on the basics of being a gardener—a steward of the earth. He certainly didn't take to it as naturally as Samandriel had, but that was to be expected. Inias hadn't been born to this, as Samandriel had. What he _did_ do was learn quickly.

Feeding life into plants, rejuvenating them, wasn't all that different from healing a wound on the battlefield; similar principle, just a tad less directed. It would be a while before Inias could reinvigorate a whole plant rather than one small part, but Samandriel took pleasure in the look of joy on his mate's face when he was able to do as instructed.

They took lazy loops through the trees and together they did as Samandriel had always done in Eden. They healed the injured and sick and gave life to the malnourished and dehydrated. While Samandriel mended a smashed beehive, Inias patched up the young Osprey whose fall from a nest had caused the damage. The bird was returned to his nest and they were on their way.

They returned to the cabin hand-in-hand and as the sun lowered in the sky, Inias prepared a modest dinner over their fire pit—skewers of cubed rainbow trout with a spicy barbecue sauce and a mixed salad. They ate on the back porch, now bordered on both ends by tall cattails, and watched an eagle hunting over the lake. Once their dishes were returned to the kitchen, Samandriel poured glasses of apple cider and filled a bowl with blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, and currants, and they went back to their fireside seat. Inias took to the cider better than he had the beer; less yeasty, he said.

They drank their cider, fed each other berries, and watched the sun go down. The fading light painted the mountains a deep, orangey gold before they sputtered out into dark silhouettes. Inias slipped the last currant into Samandriel's mouth, running his fingers through his hair. His eyes glowed, even in the waning light; lit from within by his grace.

"Today was the happiest I've been in a long time," Inias half-whispered, pulling Samandriel closer.

"I'm glad." Samandriel nestled in against Inias' shoulder. "I'd hate to think that running from Leviathans all day was more fun."

Inias chuckled. "I don't think there's any danger of that."

Samandriel closed his eyes, letting his mate's warmth wash over him. He felt Inias' fingers carding through his feathers, preening them with gentle reverence.

"It was the happiest I've been, too," he murmured, relaxing into Inias' touch. He purred as coverts and scapulars were groomed and brushed into place. His mate attentively straightened every feather he could reach, and once he was done with one wing Samandriel shifted to allow him access to the other. He mewled when fingers found his oil glands and spread the fluid over his plumage.

Inias' mouth was on his neck, sucking softly, when Samandriel bit his bottom lip and breathed, "We should go upstairs." He felt Inias smile.

They barely spoke as they left the deck, retreating to the warmth of the cabin and piling their dishes in the sink. There would be time for them in the morning.

They slipped up the stairs, their bodies as close together as possible. Inias' hands stroked and teased the whole way; Samandriel countered with provocative shivers and flicks of his wings. Once in the confines of their room, Inias flared his own; his plumage filling the space, tenting around them.

The gesture was one of dominance. Had he directed the motion at a rival it would have been an aggressive display. In context, however, it was Inias' way of staking a claim. It was a mating display.

Samandriel mirrored his movements, spreading his own wings and stepping closer. Their feathers touched and Samandriel folded his, tucking them in submission. He flicked them again, flashing his secondaries as Inias leaned in, bringing them nose-to-nose. The shiver that went down him as he looked into Inias' eyes was entirely involuntary. Warm, throbbing anticipation rushed through his body, because amid all the love and adoration in those grey eyes was a hunger that turned them dark and stormy.

Samandriel tipped his head to meet Inias' lips. The kiss was surprisingly restrained and sweet. Inias slipped his arms around Samandriel's waist as their mouths parted, smiling before moving in to lavish kisses down his neck. As teeth scraped across his skin, Samandriel once more lowered his wings to the floor and quivered them.

Inias growled, voice low with arousal. His hands slipped up underneath Samandriel's shirt, calloused palms running over his smooth back. He gasped, hips twitching forward and grinding against Inias. He could feel him half-hard underneath the denim.

Samandriel wound his fingers in the soft flannel of Inias' shirt and started undoing buttons. Inch by tantalizing inch the fabric fell away; hitting the floor with barely a sound when Samandriel finally slipped it off Inias' shoulders. He ran his palms down Inias' chest; over pectoral muscles and slim shoulders. His mate's skin was warm and the hair growing there was soft. Firm muscle moved just beneath the surface; Samandriel's questing fingers finding hardened nipples.

Inias caught him in another kiss; tender despite the hands that probed at the join of wing and back, massaging the glands there and sending fresh waves of heat to Samandriel's groin. He moaned into the kiss, shivering under Inias' skilled fingers.

His own hands swept up Inias' back, finding the very same glands and pressing. Inias jerked and groaned, shoving a thigh between Samandriel's legs. He nipped at the soft flesh beneath the younger's ear, his breath warm on the back of his neck. Samandriel whined and rutted against the meat of Inias' thigh. His legs were starting to feel like jelly and his jeans were becoming uncomfortably tight, but the friction soothed the ache in his groin.

With a quick, fluid motion, Samandriel shrugged his flannel plaid off his shoulders. The t-shirt underneath—a badly faded ACDC shirt with a hole that looked suspiciously like a stab wound—remained, though Inias wasted no time in pulling the garment up and off. Both of their vessels were slender, but Samandriel's was several shades paler and considerably less hairy. In fact, apart from the hair on his head, armpits, and groin—and the fine, pale hairs on his arms—his vessel was rather hairless for a mammal.

Desire was writ on Inias' every feature as he returned his hands and mouth to Samandriel's body. There was urgency in his movements now. He undid Samandriel's belt and fly without preamble. Samandriel shimmied out of the too-large jeans, which really didn't take much; they fell off him the moment the belt was undone.

Inias' fingers slipped into the waistband of Samandriel's briefs and he tugged them down. Once the other angel had kicked off the garment, Inias returned his thigh to Samandriel's groin. They rutted together, pre-cum soaking into denim, until Samandriel was making desperate, breathless noises and clinging to Inias' shoulders.

"On the bed," Inias urged, nipping at his earlobe. "Before your legs give out."

He backed Samandriel toward the windowed alcove and the younger angel dropped down onto the cushy mattress. He didn't take his gaze off of Inias' lean form as he settled, propped up on pillows, on his back, legs sprawled and open. His aching erection lay dripping across his stomach.

Inias stripped off his jeans, socks, and briefs, tossing them unceremoniously onto the chair behind him, and climbed onto the bed. Samandriel sat up, pulling Inias into a deep kiss, slipping his tongue into his mate's mouth. Inias hummed low in his throat, running affectionate hands down Samandriel's flanks and massaging his thighs. His body thrumming with need, Samandriel broke the kiss.

"I'm ready," he whispered, forehead rested against Inias'.

"Ready for what?"

He smiled at his mate and lowered himself back down onto the bed, fanning his wings behind him. He buried his hands in the pillows above his head, stretching himself out before Inias.

Grey eyes devoured him, sweeping up and down his sprawled form. Hands that had been on his thighs slid up to his hips.

"Are you sure?" Inias looked him straight in the eye. "After last night..."

"I'm sure." Samandriel spread his legs a little wider. "As long as I can see you."

His mate smiled fondly, crawling up the bed until they were face to face once more. This close, Samandriel could see the twinkle of grace showing through his vessel's retina. The little hint of Inias' real self; the energy, the radiance, the power. All crackling electricity and raging nuclear fire. And to think they could pack themselves so comfortably into a human skin that it started to feel like their own.

Inias leaned in to kiss him again, and this time his hand slipped between them, closing around both their cocks and stroking. Samandriel bucked his hips and moaned. Inias took advantage of his open mouth to slide his tongue inside, deepening the kiss.

It would have been a lie to say that adrenaline didn't burn through him as Inias' body pressed down on top of his, but it wasn't the primal terror it had been the previous night. It was nothing more than mild nerves. The memory of being held down on a cold table while sour-breathed demons thrust away at him was still fresh enough, but he could push the thought away. He could forget and let his world narrow to the deep cocoa of Inias' feathers. To the feel of his weight above him; his hand stroking. To the silky softness of his hair when he wound his fingers in it. And when, for a brief moment, he closed his eyes, he didn't find himself back on the table in the dusty old warehouse. His mind remained where it was: On soft sheets under the bower of his mate's wings.

Samandriel hummed in contentment as Inias prepared him, slicking his entrance with feather oil and working him open. He urged Inias on with quiet whimpers and gasps, and arched into his touch.

"Please, Inias," he mewled as fingers hooked inside him. He managed a sloppy kiss before dropping his head back into the pillow with a breathy groan. Inias' lips ghosted over his throat, the hair on his jaw tickling sensitive flesh. Samandriel could tell that his calm control was only skin deep. He was trembling; his whole body rigid and glistening with sweat, his cock dripping with need. He was being careful, despite how his body must have been howling at him.

"I'm ready, Inias..." he panted, coating his palm in Inias' feather oil and reaching between them to slick Inias' erection. His mate let out a bark of a moan at the unexpected touch, thrusting into Samandriel's hand. "I'm ready for you," he whispered into Inias' ear.

The broken, desperate sound that Inias gave in reply was cut off by another kiss. A kiss which they held as Inias hiked up Samandriel's legs and positioned himself.

They both moaned as Inias slid inside; as slow and careful and gentle as he'd been their first time. Reverent touches found all his most sensitive places. Their chests pressed together, heaving with their laboured breaths.

Samandriel gasped as he felt Inias bottom out. His body clenched around the base of his cock and his toes curled as a little jab of pleasure jumped up his spine. He tried to speak but all that came out was a high, whimpering cry.

Inias' thrusts started slow and rocking, letting Samandriel's body relax around him. The heavy push and pull eased with each movement; each thrust pulling further out before driving back in. Their breathing grew harsh, catching on each inward stroke.

"Faster," Samandriel begged, gripping at Inias' sweat-slick sides. The wings above him were quaking.

Inias obeyed without hesitation, increasing his pace, and Samandriel moaned helplessly. Pressure was building at the base of his spine; growing with each thrust, each brush of his prostate, each grunt and groan from his mate, each stroke of Inias' hand on his shaft. He met Inias' thrusts, grinding up into him and taking him in as deep as possible. He keened at the ache.

He lost track of time, then. He didn't know how long he spent clinging to Inias, feeling him move inside him, stretching him, filling him. It could have been hours. He could feel himself beginning to tighten, his body tensing, his breaths shortening to pants. Each pump of their hips drove him closer... so tantalizingly close. One particularly well-aimed thrust had his eyes rolling back. He was so close it was maddening.

"Please... please, Inias... Please," he panted, moving with his mate, who growled above him. "Inias... Inias... oh... oh..." His words trailed off into a wail as the first waves of his orgasm hit. He want rigid, his cock pulsing and spilling in Inias' hand. His mate was chanting "I love you," in his ear like a mantra, pitch jumping with each fluttering spasm of Samandriel's body around him. Then finally, with Samandriel clenched tight and crying out, his words dissolved and all he could do was moan and thrust as his own orgasm overtook him. Samandriel felt the twitches of Inias' cock as it pumped, felt the warm, wet rush, and he keened again. _This_ was how it was supposed to be...

They remained entwined for a long time, Inias' occasional thrusts feeling decidedly sloppy. Samandriel's quivers and trembles were entirely involuntary, his body boneless and limp. The sheets beneath him were damp with sweat. His wings felt like lead weights.

Eventually, mostly flaccid, Inias withdrew; collapsing next to Samandriel on the bed, breathless and spent. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back off his face.

"That was..." he trailed off, eyes glassy and staring into the woodgrain of the ceiling in search of the right word.

"Wonderful," Samandriel finished for him.

Inias chuckled, still regaining his breath. "I was leaning toward 'intense'..."

"That too."

Samandriel managed, despite his rubbery muscles, to crawl to Inias' side and curl against him. His head rested nicely over his mate's heart, their bodies moulding together like they'd been made to fit. He smiled when he felt Inias' wing fold around him and hug him closer.

Through the window they had a fair view of the stars overhead. Hundreds... thousands of lights dotted the blackness. Nowhere close to the billions that Samandriel was accustomed to seeing, but more than most humans got to see these days. Lying there, gazing up at them with Inias' wing around him, reminded him of home, and it brought his mind back to something he'd been thinking about while he'd been out in the garden that morning.

"Inias?" The other angel's eyes flicked to meet his and Samandriel felt a little grin tug at the corner of his mouth. "I've been thinking..."

"What about?"

He let his fingers trace slow circles over Inias' chest, some absentminded little part of him counting all the different shades in Inias' eyes: Warm greys in the folds of his iris, steel greys on the surface, dark, stormy greys at the edges. He could see the individual threads of tissue; could watch them contract and relax.

"I was thinking about all the things that I would've missed out on if you hadn't rescued me," Samandriel sighed, nibbling at his lip. "Things that I've put off that I would regret not doing."

Inias stroked Samandriel's cheek, brushing strands of damp hair off his temples and forehead. He sighed, smiling in a way he usually reserved for when he thought Samandriel wasn't looking.

"What things?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of him; looking at him like he didn't want to look at anything else.

"I was hoping..." Samandriel paused. "Once things were sorted out upstairs—once we could go home... I was hoping that we could have a child."

A wide smile split Inias' face and he laughed. "Of course we can." He sounded relieved. "Why all the hesitation? You made me nervous."

"I was afraid you wouldn't be ready."

The fond look returned to Inias' eyes and Samandriel felt himself blush.

"I've been ready for a long time, Sam."

They lay in silence for a while, just looking at each other. Samandriel's chest felt like it was going to burst and he gave up fighting the big, dumb grin that wanted onto his face.

"So it's settled, then."

Inias nodded and pulled him into another kiss—deep and slow and passionate. It lasted for a while, but neither was really counting. When their lips parted, Inias pulled him close; curled together once more.

"When we go home, I will gladly have a child with you."

Samandriel smiled, twining his fingers in Inias' and returning his eyes to the sky. Whether or not they fell asleep didn't really matter. It wasn't as if they had anywhere to be.

They had all the time in the world.

**Enochian**

**VIRG **_(vee-rah-geh)_: Nests, home.


End file.
